


whatever path you take (wherever you might go) i'll follow

by thinkatory



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Timeline, Dystopia, F/M, Gen, Headcanon, Jade English Is Sooooo Coooool, Mad Science, Moral Ambiguity, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Dave Strider, POV Rose Lalonde, POV Second Person, Plotty, Revolutionaries, Rose Lalonde Is Messed Up, Shippy Gen, Sibling Incest, So Many Pesterlogs, Worldbuilding, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 64,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You mentally write up a pop quiz for Rose McMystery herself.<br/>Question 1: Why are you sending me to BCCorp Maryland?<br/>Question 2: Don't you live in Treesville?<br/>Question 3: What the actual fuck is going on, really?<br/>Question 4: Do you really expect me to hack the security of the biggest corporation in the world? "</p><p>The impending end of civilization on Earth, Rose, Dave, and a connection that transcends a reboot of the universe.</p><p>Totally normal shit and not at all weird and convoluted as fuck. Yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaesa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesa/gifts).



> First things first: I am posting this much earlier than I meant to, as this fic is going to take me forever to finish. Really I don't want to risk being Jossed and feel obligated to rewrite this. There are going to be six chapters (likely, possibly seven) , spanning 2002 to 2035, so this may take me a while. Chapters may go up sporadically, so check back if you like. <3 I promise this will be done soon, though; I'm totally obsessed and love writing this.
> 
> Secondly, this fic is unapologetically shippy but is definitely plotty. Just worth note in case someone is looking for something strictly one or the other.
> 
> Thirdly... the CSS for pesterlogs alone threatened to kill me, so I gave up on getting the header perfect. Just. Cut me a break.
> 
> Title from Midnight Hands by Rise Against, a song I find particularly accurate for this fic.

_2002_

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 12:13 --
> 
> TT: Hi. 
> 
> TG: uh hey 
> 
> TG: not to be super rude or something 
> 
> TG: but who the hell are you 
> 
> TG: and how did you find my handle 
> 
> TT: I'm Rose. We've met. You just don't remember me yet. 
> 
> TG: okay uh whatever that means 
> 
> TG: im dave 
> 
> TG: do you read my comic or something 
> 
> TG: then you had to talk to me because how cool is this fucking guy 
> 
> TG: that happens 
> 
> TG: a lot 
> 
> TT: Yes, I've read your comic. I find a lot of it very interesting, including your extreme lack of filter and its implications. Still, I think you can do better. 
> 
> TT: For a given value of "better." 
> 
> TG: that is the shittiest screaming groupie speech i have ever heard of 
> 
> TG: like you didnt even say how awesome you think i am 
> 
> TG: or ask me to sign something rated PG-13 
> 
> TG: youre gonna have to work on that 
> 
> TT: I'm not a groupie, Dave. 
> 
> TG: uh okay then 
> 
> TG: hi rose 
> 
> TG: nice to meet you i guess 
> 
> TG: but im kind of busy 
> 
> TG: im kind of a big deal 
> 
> TG: adventuring and all that shit 
> 
> TG: what do you want 
> 
> TG: if not to jump on this bandwagon while its on its way up 
> 
> TT: I need your help. 
> 
> TT: You're a programmer, right? 
> 
> TT: I can't get these .~ath files right. 
> 
> TG: why 
> 
> TG: the fuck 
> 
> TG: does anyone do that shit 
> 
> TT: I have my reasons. Is that a no? 
> 
> TG: no i can kick the shit out of that code 
> 
> TG: ill look at it 
> 
> TG: its just 
> 
> TG: WHY 
> 
> TT: We can't all be the creators of the next ironic masterpiece of the century. 
> 
> TT: I'm a girl, anyway. Mystery. Et cetera. 
> 
> TG: im a 15 year old guy 
> 
> TG: not retarded 
> 
> TG: anyway 
> 
> TG: i have hacker artifact hunting to do 
> 
> TG: give me 10 minutes 
> 
> TG: while i make angelina jolie as both lara croft and that chick in hackers look like fucking amateurs 
> 
> TG: brb 
> 
> TT: Great. 
> 
> TT: This. Is so exciting. 

\--

_April 2003_

You name is DAVE STRIDER. This is obvious, because there is literally no fucking way two guys as cool as you are would be lucky enough to also have a life this cool -- a coolness which even your friend ROSE admits, so it must be true. You were raised by your adoptive father and his bros to be an ADVENTURER, and took up the art of computer skillz and hacking the shit out of stuff on the side.

You're SIXTEEN YEARS OLD now (almost seventeen actually), and you're so great at fucking up computers left and right and playing code like Snoop plays the ladies that it's mind-blowing. Like any Turing test-passing motherfuckers would blow a motherboard and wind up in computer intensive care or some shit if they came across you. BOOM, you lowly circuit-based sons of bitches.

Okay this is getting stupid, so fuck it.

A bro like you's got a lot of shit going. Like you also whip up some SICK COMICS in MSPaint, and have a fanbase that's only gotten bigger since you started updating more frequently despite being such an obvious rockstar all over the place otherwise. You're also a RAP CONNOISSEUR and will not shut the fuck up about it if people happen to exist and have the wrong opinions, but can't do much personally because adventures, that's why.

Thing is there's only one way to keep on the move and have all your brass as fuck balls in the air, get it, of course you do. It's a SWISS ARMY BACKPACK, which you got from Herb one year for Christmas. You got more shit on your back and look cooler than any god damn videogame character. Even Link from Zelda would go damn that smooth fucker has a computer, swords, guns, and survival supplies in there? Actually he'd say what's a computer and then after you explained he'd go holy shit you're a wizard do you work for Ganondorf? But eventually he'd just be impressed by a badass who also could survive on islands covered with monsters who ALSO has shades sharper than any Hylian sword and then you'd give him a fucking autograph.

And thank fuck you aren't saying any of this out loud because your DAD... hahaha you don't even want to think about it no really.

You are in WASHINGTON right now, the state, not the boring-ass capitol where the politicians are all so stupid you almost think that maybe the batterwitch conspiracies are real because it would at least explain how people could be practically brain-dead, walking, talking, and holding down a job. DC mostly annoys the shit out of you because your dad insists on going there at least once every two months, and puts you in lockdown every time for no apparent reason.

Your dad is _really_ good at lockdown.

Speaking of your dad. Here he is and he's not in a good mood (when is he though anyway, sometimes you think he's going to stab you in the face, but it's all in good fun since he hasn't done it yet). "Kid," he says, "it's time to go back to work."

Which you don't mind at all. There's more of the Old Lady's proprietary shit to find, fuck up, and sell to the highest bidder, which is kind of the coolest homeschool setup ever.

God DAMN is your dad awesome.

Your dad's bro Drago calls. You know this because Drago keeps setting Dad's phone to have the dumbest possible ringtones for all of them just to piss him off a little, except for Drago's, which is "Eye of the Tiger." Drago is awesome, too. What, your dad demands at the phone, then goes off grumbling and bitching about ONE JOB and NOT THAT HARD TO FIND A KID and Jesus Cesar get your shit together.

(Cesar is fucking hilarious, but if you laugh and Dad notices you'll get that look and probably have to clean the dirt off of everyone's shoes after the hike, so fuck that.)

Anyway, Dad hangs up and points into the woods. Herb hauls his own Swiss Army backpack over his shoulder. Here you are, all badasses, and it's time to go ransack this shit like a bunch of awesome Vikings who actually bathe and have technology and medicine, and actually it would kind of totally suck to be a Viking what the fuck.

Yeah. The Old Lady really liked building computer labs in the middle of nowhere. But who gives a shit. You don't. Because it's time to fuck shit up and take another look into JADE ENGLISH's awesome builds and try not to have a technologically-based crush on a woman who was older than dirt when you were born, because Rose would never let you live it down.

Speaking of the high priestess of Knit-thulhu herself or whatever...

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 15:13 --
> 
> TT: Are you going to stop in one of these days? 
> 
> TT: All this traveling you do and you never consider coming here. I have to wonder why. 
> 
> TG: yeah ill just haul my ass to treesville 
> 
> TG: we can hang out with your trees 
> 
> TG: and your lab 
> 
> TG: and your cat 
> 
> TG: i cant believe you knit AND have a cat 
> 
> TG: are you just giving up on getting laid ever 
> 
> TT: As usual I have to ask why you're so interested in any of my sexual expressions or fantasies therein. 
> 
> TT: Is it possible that my occasional mention of knitting and needles has given you ideas? 
> 
> TG: rose we are not doing this 
> 
> TG: we are not doing psycho picture theatre where you make me think of 
> 
> TG: oh dammit 
> 
> TG: you dont do that do you 
> 
> TG: thats some fucked up shit 
> 
> TT: There is in fact porn like that. 
> 
> TT: I know you were wondering. 
> 
> TG: i wasnt 
> 
> TG: i really wasnt at all 
> 
> TG: jesus 
> 
> TG: what the hell is wrong with you 
> 
> TT: Rose - 1, Dave - 0 
> 
> TT: Pwned, Strider. 
> 
> TG: never say pwned again 
> 
> TG: i am so embarrassed for you 
> 
> TG: like 
> 
> TG: youre just no dont 
> 
> TG: also 
> 
> TG: im not a stalker or anything you know that 
> 
> TG: and you just asked me to fly over and hang out and watch you knit or something 
> 
> TG: whats your last name anyway 
> 
> TT: I've mentioned. Haven't I? 
> 
> TG: i think id remember you not being cryptic for once in the last year 
> 
> TG: but lets play yeah daves a drooling moron for two seconds and you tell me again 
> 
> TG: rose 
> 
> TG: where did you go 
> 
> TG: its been like twenty minutes youre still there youre not even idle 
> 
> TG: what the fuck 
> 
> TG: you are unoffendable as shit 
> 
> TG: you make howard stern look like the amish 
> 
> TG: like i could start posting pokemon porn here and all youd do is psychoblahblah the shit out of it 
> 
> TG: all interesting choice of pikachu fucking ash with his lightning tail dave is this a metaphor for your phallic something something 
> 
> TG: why are you 
> 
> TG: oh fuck it 
> 
> TG: ill hit you later
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 15:30 --

Two hours later, you're inside a damp cave leaned over your laptop to protect its screen and shit, your other gear tucked inside your backpack, because the writing on the wall -- literal writing on the wall, it's obscure Asian ASCII code or something -- is the closest thing you can get to a decoder on this menu.

Dad recognized it and chalked in some helpful details but he told you to figure the rest out and get back the hell out or he'd leave you behind. You're not sure he's joking, so you're hurrying. You can still hear him and Herb arguing over the Bluetooth, though, so you're probably good.

That's when she hits you back first.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 17:35 --
> 
> TT: I would say that Pikachu penetrating Ash with his tail would be a larger indicator of your issues with your father, actually. 
> 
> TG: wow holy shit 
> 
> TG: welcome back to you too 
> 
> TT: That doesn't make sense. 
> 
> TG: okay fine you never answered my question 
> 
> TG: but i dont care 
> 
> TG: you want me to visit yeah fine 
> 
> TG: lets do this 
> 
> TG: whens good for you 
> 
> TT: Wow. You've managed to surprise me. 
> 
> TT: Rose - 1, Dave - 1 
> 
> TG: ill never get why you act like you know me so well 
> 
> TG: youre just some chick who pestered me randomly 
> 
> TT: Then you're just some dude I pestered who wants to randomly meet me. 
> 
> TT: Are you sure you want to go down this road? 
> 
> TT: We're friends, Dave. 
> 
> TT: Aren't we? 
> 
> TG: can you at least tell me 
> 
> TG: are you secretly a dude 
> 
> TG: or a fifty year old unmilf 
> 
> TG: or a fifty year old dude 
> 
> TG: or anything besides i dont know 
> 
> TG: 16 year old rose cryptic mcmystery psychobabbler extraordinaire 
> 
> TT: Everything I've told you is the truth. 
> 
> TT: I think you know that. 
> 
> TT: Shouldn't you get back to work? We can plan later. 
> 
> TG: yeah 
> 
> TG: i guess 
> 
> TG: later
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 17:20 --

When you alt-tab to the decryption, you see it's done, thank god. There's .~ath files, which means going through probably endless lines of sociopath code, and you do your best to stay cool and not glare through your shades. There's also a text file titled "readme!.txt" and you already hate this.

You open it anyway.

_sunglasses boy, i think you already know this, but you really should not run these files!_

_i believe you will do what's right with them, in fact i know that you will, so i trust you as long as you trust in yourself!_

_best of luck always,  
jade_

You stare at the screen, then quickly close the file before somehow your dad comes back. Then you copy the .~ath files onto one of your drives and delete them from the disc. The rest you can play with on the way back home.

It finishes up just in time for your dad to stick his head into the cave and give a curt nod; you shut your laptop and cram everything into your backpack, and adjust your shades.

Your hands aren't shaking. Everything is fine.

Everything is fine.

Everything is fuckin' great, and you are awesome.

\--

_August 2003_

Your name is ROSE LALONDE, even though your placronym says otherwise. Your placronym, you decided three years ago when it was engraved, will be the first thing you destroy when you turn eighteen. You are SIXTEEN YEARS OLD, though your seventeenth wriggling day is not far off, and you are literally counting the days. 

For the record, today marks the 475th day until you could technically be free of your MOTHER.

Your hobbies, besides yearning for freedom from heinous maternal figures, include knitting, creative writing, cryptozoology, and combinations therein. You have a talent for ANCIENT MAJJYKS, though few people believe you on the topic, and your mother pretends not to know or notice.

She knows. That passive-aggressive bitch.

One of your main problems is that you live in the middle of nowhere. There's a library full of books and consistent wifi, as well as all the technological advancements anyone could hope to have under one compound's roof. You have staff ready to wait on you hand and foot. You want for nothing. By all standards you are an incredibly lucky teenage girl. That is, you would be if you had ever been allowed to leave the compound unsupervised.

It should be noted that this isn't an exaggeration. _You're not allowed to leave the compound unsupervised_ , and that accounts for a whole once or twice a year at most. The psychology books that have reassured you on many things have also reassured you that cabin fever is hardly a real concern for the occupied mind; without this piece of advice, you might have developed a bad case of it yourself.

This is not to say that you have much human contact, though. Or any human contact at all.

It's probably obvious by now that you have plans and secrets. You're not going to reveal them. Not yet. Not by a long shot.

And, probably, only to him, when you're both good and ready.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 10:34 --
> 
> TT: When is your flight coming in? 
> 
> TG: about that 
> 
> TT: I see. You're standing me up. 
> 
> TG: can we not do the date comparison 
> 
> TT: Am I making you nervous? 
> 
> TG: look im already getting shit from my dads bros 
> 
> TT: I can take a picture if they want to know if I'm pretty. 
> 
> TG: please stop 
> 
> TT: You make this way too easy, Strider. 
> 
> TG: okay the point is 
> 
> TG: whats your game 
> 
> TG: i have a weird feeling about this 
> 
> TT: Go on. 
> 
> TG: no dont start enjoying this 
> 
> TG: this is not psychoevaluation time 
> 
> TG: im serious 
> 
> TT: Did you have a dream? 
> 
> TG: what 
> 
> TT: I think my question was fairly straightforward. 
> 
> TG: no 
> 
> TT: Strider. 
> 
> TT: I'm not fucking with you right now. 
> 
> TT: Did you have a dream? 
> 
> TG: who cares dreams arent actually a thing 
> 
> TG: theyre just 
> 
> TG: brain puke 
> 
> TT: That's an interesting way of putting it. 
> 
> TT: But you're wrong. 
> 
> TG: look id have to go on my own and your mom might get all weird 
> 
> TG: like were online dating or something 
> 
> TG: do you get that 
> 
> TT: Hmm. 
> 
> TG: dont 
> 
> TG: no hmming 
> 
> TT: Hmmmmm. 
> 
> TG: seriously 
> 
> TG: fuck 
> 
> TG: if itll stop you hmming 
> 
> TG: i hate dc 
> 
> TG: i hate just sitting in the hotel room 
> 
> TG: but i just dont fucking know 
> 
> TG: like whats your deal 
> 
> TG: are you a serial killer maybe 
> 
> TG: going to turn me into a skinsuit 
> 
> TG: put me in a hole 
> 
> TG: listen to bad music and dance in a stridersuit 
> 
> TT: Please stop referencing Silence of the Lambs. 
> 
> TT: We're talking about our first date here. 
> 
> TG: its not 
> 
> TG: but 
> 
> TG: anyway 
> 
> TG: itll be next tuesday 
> 
> TG: 815pm or something 
> 
> TT: I'll pick you up. 
> 
> TT: We have guest bedrooms. I won't make you cuddle with me. 
> 
> TT: This time, anyway. 
> 
> TG: ninja hackers dont cuddle rose 
> 
> TG: we disappear into the night 
> 
> TG: like shadows 
> 
> TG: then find peoples embarrassing wizard fanfictions 
> 
> TG: and post videos online of dramatic readings 
> 
> TT: Even if someone did have embarrassing wizard fanfictions, 
> 
> TT: You would be welcome to try to find them. 
> 
> TG: awesome 
> 
> TG: permission 
> 
> TT: Sure. 
> 
> TG: cool
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 10:58 --

You smile to yourself, count the days on your fingers casually, then look instantly up at the sound of the droids starting to move around downstairs. Now you're not smiling.

She's home.

You shut your laptop and snatch up your most current knitting project, a purposely ugly purse for her. Best to hide it until it's done, so she can see all the work you put in to achieve the maximum effect of absolute tackiness, and you can see the look on her face as well. If she sees it too early... well, she expects better of you than that. You stick it under a pile of skeins.

The droids chirp and clank behind her as she heads up the stairs, a sharp tick against each marble stair as the stiletto heel strikes it. You pointedly don't shut your door. You don't look away, or make any pretense of anything but hyper-vigilance around her. It's not weakness. It's the game.

You see her face first, her sharp smile. Her eyes flash onto your face, then her hair, her perfect hair, it sets your teeth on edge. Even if you didn't know for sure, even if there was a sliver of doubt, you would know. She's too vain to hide it. She is what she is and she loves being it.

Even if you couldn't see past the Snow White fair skin and dark flowing locks like something out of genuinely terrible fanfiction, not like yours, you would know. You would see the way she shimmers and the colors in her eyes and the highlights in her hair, the way a shattered rainbow desperately flashes through every inch of her façade like a warning to all who might come close.

She's not human.

"My Rose," your mother drawls, pleased, and strokes her fingers, her fingernails, more like claws, through your long blonde hair she makes you keep as an obvious and trite reminder that you're hers, and you hate her, you hate her, you hate her.

But you smile again as she releases you and strides away.

You open your laptop, disconnect from the wifi, and plug the USB hidden in the pendant around your neck into the computer. There's no point in impatience, in worry, in fear. It's always been you against her, and a chessboard full of pieces only you can look on to and direct from a distance so far no one but you would be able to see.

You begin typing the moment the command prompt finishes loading and the encrypted channel opens.

_We're on track. Nine days. I would tell you to expect us but you seem to already. Enjoy your lone island vacation while it lasts. Soon you'll have tourists to deal with._

You close the window, eject the USB, clasp it around your neck, and easily reach for your knitting as though nothing at all is, or has always been, wrong.

\--

As it turns out, no one really cares if you go to visit Rose.

For some reason you find this incredibly weird. No, actually for like seven reasons. Dad usually crams you in a room with Cesar and puts Herb in charge of not letting either of you burn the hotel down, and Rose's mom by your best guess is probably a huge bitch and control-freak who wouldn't go all oh hey Dave Strider come on in and violate my daughter, have some free condoms. Not that you're planning on violating anyone, or touching anyone, or even looking twice at anyone. It's just way too easy.

Maybe everyone thinks you're gay. You try not to think about that, not that there's anything wrong with that. (You're pretty sure Cesar and Herb are dating, anyway, so who cares.)

You're packing, which is nothing new, this shitty Austin apartment is just a parking space for your bullshit, and you have Pandora blaring and the billboards outside are flashing. You don't think about impressing anyone as you grab stuff. You don't think about good shirts or bad shirts because you wouldn't have bad shirts, fuck no. You're cool. Your instincts are cool so your choices are cool.

You do throw in a suit. You don't think too hard about that either.

Eminem's rapping up a storm. Storm wishes she could make this kind of weather event happen, and Zeus is like oh shit let me just give my lightning to this fucker. You don't even like Eminem that much but you have to give him props because the guy can lay down some sick rhymes. You think his beats suck, though. Maybe one day you'll try this shit out. It can't be that hard if faygo-chuggers like ICP do it.

You have ignored the fuck out of ICP on your Pandora. They still show up sometimes. Fuck those guys.

Em's handing people their asses left and right, movie stars, politicians, like this is an ass line during the great ass depression, and you almost crack a smile or a smirk or something, but stay cool, when you hear the audio cut out. A woman's voice drawls, " _OBEY. LISTEN TO YA MASTERS. SAVOR YA SLAVERY, MA PETS._ "

There isn't a word for the reaction you have. Not one you know. If you didn't think Rose would think you were totally fucking psycho and be raring to slap a diagnosis on you, you'd ask her if she knew a word for it.

You have finally lost your shit. Your shit is lost. You put that shit down for one second and then you turned around and where the hell is it now, who knows, your shit is LOST like the show with the polar bears.

You turn to look at your computer, eyeing it like it might explode. Then you exhale, slowly, set down the t-shirts, and approach it, looking more closely at the screen.

The song's still running but there's no track playing, just a humming sound you can barely hear, and a mechanical chirp here and there. Obviously your Pandora is fucked up beyond recognition.

...And so are the ads.

_CEASE REPRODUCTION. TRUST ONLY IN YOUR CORPORATE OVERLORDS. SURRENDER AND SLEEP. PEACE WILL COME TO YOU THROUGH OBEDIANCE._

You slam the laptop shut without thinking, and get back to packing. You shut your eyes hard when you can't get the voice out of your head, when the taste of acrid fear and vomit are at the back of your throat. _You are too cool for this._ For crazy. For conspiracy theories. For batterwitch nutjob shit.

Your PDA goes off.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 09:58 --
> 
> TT: I can't pick you up myself. I know you were looking forward to it. Deeply sorry. I'm sending you a fancy car instead. 
> 
> TT: But I'm going to need some help. 
> 
> TT: There's a protest tomorrow. BCCcorp Maryland. Meet the driver, he'll get you here. I'm on a tight timeframe, though, so if we could banter less today and get to the point that'd be great. 
> 
> TG: uh 
> 
> TG: what does the protest thing have to do with 
> 
> TG: anything?? 
> 
> TT: A good question. 
> 
> TT: Do you know how many protests have successfully made a stand at Crockercorp or its subsidiaries, Dave? 
> 
> TG: no 
> 
> TG: again 
> 
> TG: what the fuck 
> 
> TT: None have. 
> 
> TT: No protests. No strikes. 
> 
> TT: You have no idea how important this is. 
> 
> TG: is this one of those oh no they add chemicals to their whatever 
> 
> TG: or technology is scary or whatever 
> 
> TG: because you know thats bullshit 
> 
> TG: serious bullshit 
> 
> TG: like the pile of shit behind bull lawyers 
> 
> TG: that serious of bullshit 
> 
> TT: Dave. 
> 
> TT: I need you to trust me. 
> 
> TT: There's got to be something you can do to take out BCCorp MD's security. 
> 
> TG: why 
> 
> TG: i get it 
> 
> TG: hippies 
> 
> TG: but 
> 
> TG: are these good hippies or bad hippies 
> 
> TG: are they going to blow shit up 
> 
> TG: holy shit are you a terrorist 
> 
> TG: why am i even surprised 
> 
> TT: Strider. 
> 
> TT: Play stupid if you want. 
> 
> TT: But I know you've seen it. All around us. 
> 
> TT: Her shit. 
> 
> TT: I know you're smarter than you'd ever let on. 
> 
> TG: the fuck is that supposed to mean 
> 
> TG: im smart 
> 
> TT: Smarter than that, then. 
> 
> TT: I didn't want to do this. Not this early. 
> 
> TT: But if I have to, I will. 
> 
> TG: oh god 
> 
> TG: what
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 10:04 --

>   
> 
> 
> \-- godelsGirl [GG] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 10:04 --
> 
> GG: hi dave! 
> 
> TG: what 
> 
> GG: my name is jade. 
> 
> TG: what the fuck. 
> 
> GG: hahaha, you kids these days. 
> 
> GG: dave, you need to wake up! 
> 
> TG: rose put you up to this right 
> 
> GG: rose is trying to help all of us. 
> 
> GG: you don't need to fight it so hard, i promise 
> 
> GG: it's okay to believe 
> 
> GG: and we're all here to work on this together! 
> 
> TG: sorry you still lost me 
> 
> TG: are you uh 
> 
> TG: are you jade english 
> 
> GG: yes! 
> 
> GG: now do you remember those files you found? 
> 
> GG: the code i wrote! 
> 
> TG: um 
> 
> TG: yes 
> 
> GG: you're a smart boy :) 
> 
> GG: i know you'll figure out the rest 
> 
> GG: now trust rose 
> 
> GG: she's a good girl 
> 
> TG: hahaha 
> 
> TG: do you even know her 
> 
> GG: yes 
> 
> GG: i'll see you soon, dave! 
> 
> GG: happy travels! 
> 
> TG: uh 
> 
> TG: okay 
> 
> TG: thanks
> 
> \-- godelsGirl [GG] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 10:06 --

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 10:06 --
> 
> TG: is this shit for real 
> 
> TG: jade english just pestered me 
> 
> TG: you know my dad basically bounty hunts her tech 
> 
> TG: obviously you know because you know everything 
> 
> TG: which is fucking unsettling 
> 
> TG: and youre dragging me into your shit 
> 
> TG: seriously deep shit 
> 
> TG: so you could tell me something 
> 
> TG: anything 
> 
> TG: what is going on whats this shit about bccorp 
> 
> TG: we could go to jail 
> 
> TG: were both too pretty for jail 
> 
> TG: answer dammit i swear i am just going to stay the fuck here 
> 
> TG: my ass stays in austin 
> 
> TG: enjoy hacking security mainframes by yourself 
> 
> TT: I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important. 
> 
> TT: And, 
> 
> TT: There are worse things than prison. 
> 
> TT: Trust me or don't. 
> 
> TT: You know how to find me. 
> 
> TG: yeah 

Something tugs in your gut.

 _Why do you trust her?_ Why does she matter so much to you for no goddamn reason at all?

You'll never know.

> TG: you cool? 
> 
> TT: Yeah. 
> 
> TT: Just help me with this. 
> 
> TT: We haven't got time for the infodump now. I'll explain everything later. 
> 
> TG: you know you just guaranteed youre gonna die right 
> 
> TT: I should go.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 10:20 --
> 
> TG: wait 
> 
> TG: rose 
> 
> TG: shit 

You're sweating. And it's not just the Austin heat.

What the actual fuck was that.

Something changes in your head. Like a video camera swinging rapidly away from its original focus. You're disoriented, vision and focus blurred, you shut your suitcase and put it on the ground, climbing onto your bed and into the range of the fan to breathe in fresh air.

The stylish music technology of Pandora washes over you again. You wonder when you opened your laptop, but you're too drowsy to care.

You dream of Rose. The dream, as usual with brain puke, has completely shitty lighting like some sort of low-budget sci-fi show trying to cover up its mistakes. But she's costumed like an idiot, too, in some sort of purple princess dress, and she's not hot, even if you can't look away from her and you can't really talk because your throat just stops.

It's a stupid dream, you decide, in the midst of it, and close your eyes. What kind of dream would let you just freeze up and ignore the actually kind of hot chick in the princess dress? Fuck this dream.

\--

_Days in the future, but not many..._

An ANCIENT EMPRESS takes short steps to develop the battlefield advantage to ensure her rise.

"If you fuck this up, Jackie," she says as she looks over the maps strewn across her desk, "I'mma make you think death is the coolest option you coulda got. Hear me?"

"Yeah boss," Noir says. (He's annoyed. Who cares.) "We got it under control. Locked down tight. Old Lady's good as toast."

This is inane. The EMPRESS hangs up on him.

The picture of JADE sits on her desk, too, all carefree and childish and most of all _human_. She couldn't raise her daughters to be what she is, this world too soft, their bodies too weak and _wrong_.

Until now.

"Hope you're ready for Mama, my babies," she says, and sets the picture atop the maps as more a target than a keepsake.

For the first time in about a century, this whole thing is starting to feel _right_.

\--

You get out of the gate at Reagan, for once on your own, and it feels completely fucking weird, but that particular ping of weirdness goes away pretty quickly once you see your name on a sign held by a robot.

Probably worth repeating that because you're stuck on it: _your name, on a sign, held by a robot._

Okay then.

"Uh," you say to the robot, then you realize you don't even know if there's a point in talking to it but keep going because you've already started, "yeah. I'm Dave Strider."

The robot nods, and turns around, lowering the sign to its side. You chase after it. "Wait. Hey. Robot. Luggage. Dude."

It ignores you and keeps going, and you spot a sign; apparently it's taking you down to the luggage carousel. Whatever. You're going to try to tune this crazy out, no matter how weird it is. What the fuck, Rose. _Robots._

Now you're stuck at a luggage carousel with a robot that doesn't talk as far as you can tell, and no one seems to think anything of it, and yeah, robotics is totally a thing and you're decent at it but what the fuck, it's not exactly normal. Is it? Do most people have robots who drive them around and carry their luggage?

Homeschooling. You've heard it does this.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 20:38 --
> 
> TG: did you seriously send me a robot butler 
> 
> TG: do you have robot butlers 
> 
> TG: is this an east coast thing 
> 
> TG: wait 
> 
> TG: is this YOUR robot butler 
> 
> TG: am i being led into a trap 
> 
> TT: No. 
> 
> TT: That is my robot butler, I promise. 
> 
> TT: I would recommend being particularly careful around it, though. 
> 
> TT: I'm not sure how long the reprogramming is going to hold. 
> 
> TG: what 
> 
> TG: seriously 
> 
> TG: are you putting me in a car with a robot that might go homicidal 
> 
> TG: WHEN ITS DRIVING THE CAR 
> 
> TG: how is this a good plan 
> 
> TT: I'm working with what I have. 

It hits you, as your luggage appears on the carousel and the robot butler goes to fetch it, that none of this makes any sense. Again. You wonder how many times you're going to be reminded of that until your brain finally surrenders to the part where Rose's life is completely fucking insane and you're a part of it now.

> TG: you got a minute 
> 
> TG: i have some questions 
> 
> TT: I don't, actually. 
> 
> TT: I'll see you later.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 20:45 --
> 
> TG: fuck 

You mentally write up a pop quiz for Rose McMystery herself.

_Question 1: Why are you sending me to BCCorp Maryland?_  
_Question 2: Don't you live in Treesville?_  
_Question 3: What the actual fuck is going on, really?_  
_Question 4: Do you really expect me to hack the security of the biggest corporation in the world?_

Unfortunately, that last one is both probably a yes and "there's no time to ask that question right now" based on the crazy timetable she's vaguely given you. Robot butler takes you to the towncar (yeah, that's not conspicuous, thanks Rose) and you settle in the back, plugging your wifi enabler into the USB port of your laptop. The main issue here is going to be untangling who supplies the security.

Which is in fact what the issue turns out to be. Fifteen minutes into the drive you're just about grinding your teeth, then you instinctively alt-tab through your stuff to see you have an explorer window open with the .~ath files from Jade English.

Except there's a .jpeg there now along with the others. There's no way that was there before. How could there be a .jpeg in there, you would have previewed that shit immediately.

You're grumbling about the Old Lady out loud like your dad does, so you stop, swear at yourself for being stupid, then open the fucker.

There it is -- a logo of a shield and spikes in a disturbingly familiar pairing of red and white -- your eyebrows raise above your shades -- and a tablet-drawn smiley beside it. You pause, and exhale.

You get it.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering godelsGirl [GG] at 21:05 --
> 
> TG: thanks jade
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering godelsGirl [GG] at 21:05 --

She doesn't answer, so you're not going to acknowledge that happened. Or the reaction you're having to having even reached out to her. Nope. You still don't have a crush on the Old Lady. That would be too weird even for your life right now.

The .~ath files, based on just a skim, are nothing good for anyone who runs them, but what else is new, they're .~ath files. Some quick research into the BCCorp databases and subsidiaries gives you a name and logo that matches perfectly to the one on your screen: Imperiacorp.

Whipping up a virus and a file to hide it in is easy enough. Breaking through the encrypted network their IT is hardly competent enough to protect from you and sending it as an update to all of their computers is an equal fucking cakewalk, ironically enough.

You grin to yourself. Just for a second. You are _so. good._ You are so good Hacker Jesus would let you go ahead and walk on water first. Go ahead, you rad motherfucker, he'd say. You earned it.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 21:25 --
> 
> TG: think i got it 
> 
> TG: your hippie friends putting flowers in guns yet 
> 
> TG: still not entirely sure what these files do 
> 
> TG: not sure i want to 
> 
> TG: jade scares the shit out of me 
> 
> TG: guess well see 
> 
> TG: hey 
> 
> TG: you too busy singing we will overcome over there or what 
> 
> TG: whats going on 
> 
> TG: do you mind telling me shit now 
> 
> TG: think i earned it 
> 
> TG: just pulled off some seriously sick shit 
> 
> TT: Later, Strider. 
> 
> TG: christ 
> 
> TG: are you serious 
> 
> TT: STRIDER. 
> 
> TT: LATER. 
> 
> TG: well 
> 
> TG: shit 
> 
> TG: okay
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 21:30 --

She shouted at you. Well. "Shouted." Rose can get angry. That stuns you a little, no lie.

You're starting to worry that if she starts to answer questions that you'll just have more and things will get even more fucked up. 

Ignore it, you decide. Enjoy the scenery. Or look at the code you sent to the world's biggest everything to see exactly how badly you just fucked up your life for some girl you've never met in person.

Yeah. No. That's not happening.

Check it out. There are trees outside.

\--

_Hours in the past, but not many..._

On a pacific island, an ELDERY REVOLUTIONARY walks in the jungle with no less than five computers on her person, like a reasonable person.

She adjusts the soothspecs on her face. She has a young friend to reassure.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- godelsGirl [GG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 19:01 --
> 
> GG: rose 
> 
> GG: there are 30 of them 
> 
> GG: and you have dave on your side 
> 
> GG: i know you trust him 
> 
> GG: what else is there to do? 
> 
> GG: the plan is in motion. 
> 
> TT: I can't sit here and wait. 
> 
> TT: There has to be something else I can do. 
> 
> GG: they'll be there soon. 
> 
> GG: you'll be able to do plenty for them from your computer. remember, i am giving you access to the grounds controls. 
> 
> GG: and you are well-armed, it's safe to say. :) 
> 
> GG: don't you think? 
> 
> TT: Is it unreasonable to worry? 
> 
> TT: To feel helpless? 
> 
> TT: Even with all the plans we've made, and how well-armed I am, as you say. 

It makes the REVOLUTIONARY smile, sadly, and think on childhood losses and anger burning more brightly than the heart of any volcano.

She speaks.

> GG: not at all. 
> 
> GG: that's what she does. 
> 
> GG: she makes you question yourself. 
> 
> GG: but all you need to do is take heart. 
> 
> GG: remember who you are. 
> 
> GG: i know you know that quite well. 
> 
> TT: Sometimes I'm not so sure, Jade. 
> 
> GG: if you can't trust yourself. 
> 
> GG: then trust me. 
> 
> GG: before we go ahead with this plan 
> 
> GG: you need to know that i am so proud of you. 
> 
> TT: Jade. 
> 
> TT: Stop it. 
> 
> GG: it's okay! 
> 
> GG: everything is going to be okay, rose. 
> 
> GG: i saw them safe and sound. 
> 
> GG: trust in skaia's knowledge. 
> 
> GG: it sees and knows. 
> 
> TT: Maybe I'm too selfish for this, 
> 
> TT: Too weak. 
> 
> TT: I'm afraid. 
> 
> TT: For all of us. 
> 
> GG: you are the furthest thing from selfish. 
> 
> GG: take care of yourself and dave. 
> 
> GG: he'll need you. 
> 
> GG: i believe in both of you. that we can do great things. that we can stop the witch in her tracks. 
> 
> GG: you believed in me. let me believe in you. 
> 
> TT: I will, Jade. 
> 
> TT: Thank you. 
> 
> GG: i will see you soon, rose. 
> 
> TT: I can't wait.
> 
> \-- godelsGirl [GG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 19:16 --

She looks into the sky. She sees, and she knows.

Things aren't as clear to her as they once were, her eyes and her reflexes gone weary, but there are very few tricks up her MOTHER's sleeve that she hasn't seen over the course of a century. 

Skaia hasn't told the REVOLUTIONARY. She just knows.

"Come and get me," she says. She knows what needs to be done. 

The BOY must be shielded from the witch. She goes.

\--

You look outside at the compound grounds, where drones and employees usually mill through, and you smile down at the sight. 

For once, the sun setting on BCCorp Maryland, the place you've called home your entire miserable life, is a welcome sight. Because it'll be the last time you'll lay eyes on a sunset from confinement. You and Jade have worked too hard on this, risked so much, and you may do your best to be hardened and cynical but you're still sixteen. You have to grudgingly admit to yourself, if nothing else, that your main hope in this relies on the unfairness of your aforementioned miserable life being dictated by a series of choices for some reason made by _an alien psychopath_.

You have to believe Jade. She's never lied to you. In a world built from manipulation and thoroughly gaslit, she's one of the only people you've even considered trusting.

(Of course, you can trust your mother to behave certain ways. You can trust the employees and the drones to studiously ignore you, at least until ordered otherwise. But that's a different kind of trust.)

The butler picked up Dave, and he's on his way to you, working on the hack. You don't want to think about the kind of trust you have in him right now, the kind you've placed in his hands, because it's still impossible to tell if it's valid. He could turn at the last second.

You really, really don't want to think about that. It makes you nauseous, for so many reasons.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering godelsGirl [GG] at 20:30 --
> 
> TT: Are we go? 
> 
> TT: I thought they were supposed to be here. 
> 
> TT: Should I reach out to Luke? 
> 
> TT: Jade. 
> 
> TT: You're worrying me. 
> 
> TT: Please let me know how it stands on your end. 
> 
> TT: Jade? 
> 
> TT: Are you all right? 
> 
> GG: i only have a moment, rose 
> 
> GG: go to your computer 
> 
> GG: i'll install the controls for the grounds 
> 
> GG: luke will contact you 
> 
> GG: i love you. 
> 
> GG: now take heart. go. 
> 
> TT: I, 
> 
> TT: Yes. 
> 
> TT: I'm ready. Thank you. 
> 
> GG: <3 
> 
> TT: <3
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering godelsGirl [GG] at 20:35 --

You breathe in and out. You remind yourself there's a plan. You remind yourself you have no choice.

You open your laptop and click to open the grounds controls setup Jade gave you access to. It's time to get to work; you're not going to have the time to do all this when Dave and everyone else's efforts make it blatantly obvious what's happening.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- parisBound [PB] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 20:38 --
> 
> PB: Rose 
> 
> PB: We're here 
> 
> PB: Your friend with the code 
> 
> PB: Has he got it under control 
> 
> TT: He will. 
> 
> PB: Might be difficult to get on the property if security isn't down 
> 
> TT: Yes, that's a fair assessment. 
> 
> PB: Are you sure he can do it 
> 
> TT: Absolutely. 
> 
> PB: What now 
> 
> TT: As long as you follow the strategic positions we discussed. I'll make way for you. 
> 
> TT: Do you trust me? 
> 
> PB: Definitely 
> 
> PB: You make a good Patton, Rose 
> 
> TT: You have no idea. I'll see you out there. 
> 
> PB: :)
> 
> \-- parisBound [PB] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 20:38 --

You settle in with the controls. The gates are the most obvious thing, but opening them would tip off security, and at this point that's the last thing you want to do. What would probably be your best bet is disabling the electric fence instead.

There it is. You smirk, and cheerfully disengage it.

Other things you can do -- this is like playing Sims except it's letting you undermine your mother's empire, how great is this? -- include: locking down the drone base in the main building so no reinforcements can be called, lowering the oxygen levels in the security wing so as to throw off the humans involved just slightly enough, that kind of thing.

As fun as this is, though, now it's probably worth checking to see if you've captchalogued and packed everything you need or want ever again. Somehow you think you're not going to be able to sneak back here to pick up something you forgot.

You're dizzy as you look through your things, convincing yourself to leave your yarn behind, that skeins are replaceable even if they are just the right shade. Unlike that of the security guys, the lightheadedness isn't because there's less oxygen being pumped through the vents. _This is it._ This is _it_.

You're on your way out.

Finally, you stare at your placronym where it sits propped up as a reminder of why. You captchalogue it.

Dave is signed on, not idle, so he must be working at the hack, and you don't want to interrupt him, because for once something more important than trolling Dave is happening. You pace. You thumb your needles nervously and think about kicking dents in your wall. And, finally, you snap.

It's been sixteen and a half years. You have waited too long.

You throw yourself in the computer chair and the freedom of it all is intoxicating. _Here we go._ You lock the doors on the human security first. You open the gates. Then you kill the power.

Yes, there's a backup generator. But it'll take a minute to come back up, and that's just enough time, considering how dark it is right now.

Enough of that. You captchalogue your laptop, put on your HUBTOPBAND and flip the night vision capabilities on, shouldering your backpack. There shouldn't be drones in the house at this hour, probably, considering your mother isn't home and technically they think you're locked in, which you never actually are.

You sneak out and then HOLY FUCK you were wrong and there's a drone. You think there's a serious possibility you're going to have to blow it up and everything is going to go to hell in here, because when one drone is in this house, there are at least five, and you can take them all out, but everything they see she sees and you are totally doomed.

Its camera takes you in and it moves forward to take you into custody, you can tell, and you just want to scream like a child because this is like every escape attempt you've ever had when you were seven, eight, nine, eleven, thirteen -- 

But it stops. It whirrs. You scan it with the HUBTOPBAND. It's on sleep mode.

Oh. _Oh._

He did it.

A smile crosses your face and your stomach turns, but this nausea is different. This is good nausea. Because Dave came through for you, and you are so incredibly fucking elated that he did and you can't say a word because he'd never let you forget it, but you don't care.

Your heart is beating hard, from fear, from intense joy, all of it. You rush past the drone. There are two more on the stairs, likely having been alerted by the first one, but you ignore them because they're just as asleep. From a window on the first floor you can see the flash of Skaianet weaponry and red and white shrapnel flying through the air, and that terrifies you on an instinctive level because things are going _too well_.

You strain to look out the window, and that's when you see the bodies.

You know better than this. You do. You knew that people were going to die, you were supposed to be able to deal with this. _People are dying at her hands_ , you remind yourself. _We have to make sacrifices to make her stop._

A voice in the back of your head chimes in: _Or just make sacrifices to get you free?_

You shunt the thought away, because the lights have gone back up, the human security guards are out there, and things are getting really unpleasant. You have to step in, you do, even though things might really go to hell if Heiress v 2.0 shows up to kick ass and take names.

You remind yourself: Trust in Skaia. Trust Jade.

You have nothing to lose, nothing to do but lass scamper the fuck out there.

It's a battlefield out there, quite literally; the power's back on, so is the propaganda signal, and the guards have basically no resistance to it. You can't see Luke, who Jade assured you sticks out, being over six feet tall and also fully capable of wielding two electrified short swords of Jade's own invention, but that's probably just because he's busy having a reasonable discussion with, or physically dominating, the biggest two or three security guards out there.

Or possibly not. Because a fairly large one has just spotted you.

You freeze despite yourself -- just this once -- then you let the adrenaline take over and a smile crosses your face for a moment.

"Do we have a problem?" you ask him, and show him the THORNS OF OGLOGOTH.

He makes the mistake of laughing at you, so you disarm him, throw him to the ground, choke him out a bit, and dislocate his shoulder. Then the HUBTOPBAND warns you that you're not alone again, which seems redundant considering the whole battlefield thing until you hear gunfire in your direction. You instinctively deflect it with majjyks.

That stops the gunfire for a few seconds, both because they realize it's not helping and that you have majjyks and what are they up against exactly?

Apparently they don't realize who they're working for.

All the better, really. You smirk, and advance on them.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 21:25 --
> 
> TG: think i got it 

Strider is pestering you. REALLY?

You suppose it isn't totally fair of you to complain, considering, but _what timing_.

> TG: your hippie friends putting flowers in guns yet 
> 
> TG: still not entirely sure what these files do 
> 
> TG: not sure i want to 
> 
> TG: jade scares the shit out of me 
> 
> TG: guess well see 
> 
> TG: hey 
> 
> TG: you too busy singing we will overcome over there or what 
> 
> TG: whats going on 
> 
> TG: do you mind telling me shit now 
> 
> TG: think i earned it 
> 
> TG: just pulled off some seriously sick shit 

Okay, two of them are down. That's a start. You can answer now.

> TT: Later, Strider. 
> 
> TG: christ 
> 
> TG: are you serious 

Shit, that one got back up.

> TT: STRIDER. 
> 
> TT: LATER. 
> 
> TG: well 
> 
> TG: shit 
> 
> TG: okay
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 21:30 --

You make a point of kicking that last guard in the balls.

Oh, fuck, this feels _good_. You think you could be into this kind of thing. The fresh air -- the THORNS in your hands, finally crackling with power -- the rebellion, here, on your doorstep, to help you -- the destiny of it all, just as Jade said -- wait. _Jade._ She hasn't pestered you in ages.

You start to speak, to pester her, but another guard comes at you, a faster one now, and there's no time, you're being fought into a corner.

There's a horrible electronic shrieking sound a second later and half the combatants throw their hands over their ears, and you fight through it, tie this guard's hands up, and try to think past it. You glance at your wrist and exhale, grinning for an instant. The light has stopped pulsing.

The signal is down.

Shouting breaks out instead of fighting, shoving and arguments, less bloodshed, and you're starting to wonder if maybe there's a way to get everyone, most everyone, out of here -- climb on top of something and use majjyks as a bullhorn to rally the people, maybe? How cliché -- then gunfire rings out again and there's screaming, high-pitched, and chaos breaks out worse than ever.

This day, you swear to the Old Gods. You go to save some people's asses.

 _Dave, where are you_ \-- no, you can't think about that, not right now --

One moment you're in the fray, breaking a security officer's arm and knocking him out, then the next there's a blinding light and the most horrific kind of screaming and the smell of burnt hair and scorched rubber and sulfur, and

There's blood on your face and your clothes and you blink and swipe it off the lens of your HUBTOPBAND, slowly, because you can barely move through the shock and confusion. What, why, how, why are there bodies for a hundred feet or more around you, why has everyone turned to shoot up, up into the sky, where -- 

It's a ship. A spaceship. It's red, and white, and huge. Her mark is there. You can feel her, there.

Strider again. You look, because it's better than this.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 21:38 --
> 
> TG: holy fucking shit 
> 
> TG: what was that 
> 
> TG: i was joking about the terrorist thing 
> 
> TG: you didnt actually blow shit up did you 
> 
> TT: How far are you? 
> 
> TG: just saw a nuke go off or whatever 
> 
> TG: 5-10 max 
> 
> TT: Meet me by Building 38C. 
> 
> TT: Don't worry, Strider. 
> 
> TT: We've got this. 
> 
> TG: to be worried 
> 
> TG: id have to have any clue whats going on 
> 
> TG: so 
> 
> TG: cool 
> 
> TG: all good here 
> 
> TT: See you soon.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 21:43 --

You think that's the longest you can pretend that any of this is okay.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering godelsGirl [GG] at 21:43 --
> 
> TT: Jade. 
> 
> TT: I don't know where you are, 
> 
> TT: Or if you're all right. 
> 
> TT: But she killed them. 
> 
> TT: She'll kill us all. 
> 
> TT: I think it's over. 
> 
> TT: I'm sorry. 
> 
> TT: I love you, too.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering godelsGirl [GG] at 21:44 --

You impatiently brush tears from your face and run for 38C, over and past bodies of people you didn't know but knew of you and fought for you, or who had no clue who they were working for, actually.

You have another message, from Jade, hopefully, or, _no, no no no no fuck_

>   
> 
> 
> \-- )(er Imperial Condescension [)(IC] began trolling terminalTelesilla [TT] at 21:47 --
> 
> )(IC: got a present for ma gurl 
> 
> )(IC: open up baby tinyurl.com/justformarosie 
> 
> )(IC: and smile for tha cameraaaaaa 

You falter and take steps back and you hate yourself for it, pushing yourself to stand your ground as you see her step off the fucking ship about a hundred feet away, readying her cameraphone at you like you're going to high school prom.

Her trident is bloody. Fuck do you not want to open the link. But you have to.

You're trembling when it loads. _Jade._ This is not okay. _Jade._ You can't let this go unpunished. You have to avenge her. You have to. It rages _in your head_ , the echo of the throes.

You look past the photo of Jade, crumpled, bleeding, to your MOTHER, still captivated in fury and unwilling to admit that this all could fail even when _Skaia knows_.

She snaps a picture of you. You stare at her, speechless in guilt and vengeance, and that's when you see it. Either she doesn't care or she can't control it, or the propaganda signal was doing part of the work for her -- whatever the reason, she's now essentially visible as what she truly is. Even you aren't prepared for what you're seeing, honestly. It's the most open she's been in years.

All of this is the most open she's been in years.

"Gills," you say, skeptical. "Gills and... and magical rainbow auras. And... is that a third eye?"

"Rose," she answers, gently, grinning, smirking, taunting, all of it, somehow. You may be snarking but your body can't decide how to handle it, to cry, to collapse in terror, or to fly at her in rage, so you wind up just staring at her in the most potent impotent rage possible. "Rooooose," she calls. "Come to Mother."

" _You killed her_ ," you say, flatly. She's winning, and that makes you hate her more than ever. "You killed Jade. After everything -- she -- YOU WON. She was forced out, in hiding, why would you even hurt her, this was my idea -- _mine_! Why would you need to -- _want to_ \-- you fucking _monster_!"

"All of this -- " She gestures at the bloodbath, and there's another blast of light and screaming and you fight off tears desperately -- "All this, baby, and you have to ask why?" She follows your gaze to the blood dripping from one side of her trident. "Girls like you, discipline's key."

Oh, shit. Your face is flushing now. You have no control. At least in the rage and the throes you can live with yourself, for now. "You can try to kill me if you want." You draw the THORNS again. "But I think all my patience with your stupid game has earned me first shot. Have I not earned your respect yet?"

"Ain't about respect." She eyes the THORNS. "I knew you could do it, both of you, and you know that. And I know you know why-y," she finishes in a sing-song, her eyes narrowing.

"This is stupid," you interrupt, sharply. "Do I get first shot or not?"

"Oh come on, let's enjoy this, Rosie -- "

"Don't call me that!" You lash out with powers from the Void.

You expected her to react better to that, pleased, even, but she doesn't take well to it, her mouth pressing into a firm line. Power crackles from her fingers in near-blinding, flickering colors as she smashes your attack aside. Ridiculously, you think of what Dave's stupid metaphor might be, and -- _what the hell, Rose?_ \-- anyway -- 

"You're right, I could kill you too," she drawls out, gestures grandiosely, and the GodCat appears next to her. You huff despite yourself; you hate that thing, and it hates you, and this is just insult to injury. "Oh, who am I kidding, baby? I kinda have to, don't I."

"Oh my god, shut up and try or go back to Mars," you say. It's not remotely clever but you're too pissed off to care that much.

"Not from Mars, _Rose_ , and you know it," she answers without missing a beat, and smirks. "Right?"

Fucking taunts. You attack her again and again and again, and you can't even tell if it's getting past her defenses, but you don't care. You don't care that a small voice in the back of your head is suggesting you're becoming more like her than you want to. You don't care. _You don't care._

Your MOTHER lowers her hand; she remains untouched.

"Time to play," she says, and saunters towards you with that awful swing in her hips.

You take slow breaths.

This is it.

You catch one side of the trident in the THORNS and she spins it, you duck, you blast the trident out from your grasp but of course it's in perfect condition, still, and she's so close that you just know, you know this is it, and in one way, one way, this is freedom -- 

_No._

You punch her in the face, which mostly just hurts your hand, then blast her away ten feet while she's distracted by your audacity.

"You little _bitch_ ," she shouts at you. " _Not_ the face!"

You chop your hair off with a lash of the THORNS, staring her down with a faint, probably totally insane smile.

"Fuck you," you say.

She looks at you, mortally offended because your _precious hair_ or whatever, her idiotic ego as usual, then she laughs in a way that can only be described as wicked. Then she hits you with a rainbow lightning bolt, seriously, and the next thing you remember you're on the ground, and --

Here we go again.

\--

You have finally arrived at BCCorp Maryland, and promptly have begun to feel like a major asshole. Like, holy fuck, yeah, this DAVE STRIDER guy is a douchebag, an awesome douchebag who can do incredible things with a computer and survive in any wilderness, but a douchebag nevertheless.

You don't know if Rose is completely insane or whatever, and she probably is because she makes barely any sense to you most of the time, but right now you are a douchebag for doubting her for everything because there are definitely evil robots and a fuckton of dead bodies and a red and white spaceship parked right over there.

"38C. 38C," you repeat urgently to the robot butler, and punch him in the arm without thinking to get him going faster. "Ow, fuck -- "

"You have told me sir," the robot butler says.

" _You can talk_? Oh shit that doesn't matter just go faster," you say as fast as you can. "Hit the gas, motherfucker!"

The car jerks forward as he hits the gas and it plows over a few hopefully dead bodies -- you cringe and really hope you didn't just kill some possible survivors, but most everyone looks pretty horribly ugly dead there so -- before skidding across a courtyard and right up by the spaceship.

"Oh, shit, no, not by the spaceship," you shout at the fucking robot. "Dude no I did not sign up for aliens -- "

"This is Building 38C," the robot butler says pleasantly.

"Well -- _shit_!" There it is on the building. Doesn't look like you have a choice here. _Dammit, Rose._ You throw the car door open, climb out and just about run before you remember to tell the robot butler to "STAY HERE."

"Yes sir," the robot says, and turns the car off.

"LEAVE IT ON," you shout at him again, and take off running.

You stop dead when you see her. Them. Shit, fuck, damn, hell, holy motherfucking christ it's an alien with gills who you are definitely not having sexy thoughts about, and _Rose is using magic wands?_ and you have a really horrible feeling about this because if that's -- if that's -- 

You can't let yourself think about that.

Rose gets blasted to her feet by some kind of rainbow-y lightning strike from the fish-alien and you're shouting her name before you can stop yourself even though that's a recipe for getting a lightning bolt yourself and you fucking know it. The fish-alien's head turns to you and your instinct is to freeze -- _is that a third eye?_ Is it _blinking_? -- until you break out of it and draw your sword.

"Oh sweetie," the alien drawls, "you got the wrong idea."

"Yeah well you aren't gonna kill Rose," you say, and it almost sounds like you're not terrified, which is surprising considering that you absolutely are. "I'll kill you first."

"Oh really, Dave?" HOLY SHIT SHE KNOWS YOUR NAME and that's when you start having a really hard time not admitting that this fish-alien might be Rose's "mom" and you don't really want to think about the implications of that any further, also not really the time is it. "Because _I don't think so_."

"Then let's do this, Aqua-Mom," you say, and ready your sword.

She considers that, tilting her head as she gazes at your sword, but Rose is stirring, and she glances her way instead. "...Later, boys and girls," she says, and blows Rose a kiss -- and rainbow electric shit bursts from her fingertips and electrifies Rose, who starts screaming and twitching, and you rush forward but the alien's on you and slams you to the ground with the side of her trident to your head. Your sword clatters to the ground and jesus christ this is going badly, you realize, as she glides away walking like Betty god damn Boop or something to her over-branded spaceship.

"What a bitch," you mumble.

The spaceship leaves. It takes you a few minutes to climb to your feet comfortably, and you probably have a concussion, but it's not like it's your first one. You walk to Rose and kneel by her; you're going to have to see if she's alive and you know it but god you don't know what the fuck you're going to do if she's dead. You touch her lips, accidentally, as you test to see if she's breathing, and in spite of yourself you flush because you're a teenager, dammit, and in person, asleep, even with a crazy-ass haircut, Rose is kind of hot.

This isn't exactly how you imagined your first meeting. But now that you think about it you can't imagine it turning out any other way, because, _it's Rose for fuck's sake_.

"Weirdest fucking day," you say to the unconscious Rose, and pick her up. "Come on. The robot butler's waiting for us."

\--

You wake up. The last thing you remember is being flattened to the concrete, so lush bedding and soft lighting is surprising but not unpleasant. The first sound you recognize is the gentle clack of laptop keys, and you blink sunlight from your blurry vision, which finally shows you who's there.

"Dave," you call to him.

You startle the hell out of him. "Uh, hey," he says, turning around quickly, playing it cool. Does he think you're going to believe that? "You're up."

"Yes." You sit up, cringing and wincing at all the pain that's everywhere, and your head's still sorting itself out. "Should I... leave the questions for later, or..."

He hesitates. "I don't know. I figured you'd want food first."

"We're in a hotel," you conclude.

"Yeah," he says.

"Room service? Can we afford it?"

"Rose, I ransacked BCCorp Maryland's accounts, they won't be needing that shit anyway. Place is ruined," he says. "We're good. Also probably we're both in deep shit with the law. Or at least Crockercorp. Woohoo," he finishes in a deadpan.

"It's not a matter of 'probably,'" you say. You can't stop looking at him, but you're not out of it enough to just stare. It's just so good to see him. "We're on the run, Strider. Ready for it?"

"Something like that," he says. His eyebrows rise above his sunglasses. "You owe me, by the way. I saved your ass."

"Did you?" you ask dryly. "Really."

"Yeah," he says. "From a fish-alien."

You smile, in spite of yourself. "Do you know how insane that sounds?"

"Nothing crazier than what you say on a regular basis," he says. "You got everything you need from that place, because I can mess their shit up again if you need somethin' -- "

"No," you say, immediately. You don't want to go back. It hurts to think about. "No, I'm fine." There's a long, awkward pause, and he seems to be expecting you to say something. "You did it."

"Uh, yeah, and you have magic powers or something," he points out, clearly uncomfortable with this idea. "What the fuck was that?"

"You never believed me, did you," you ask rhetorically.

"Who the hell would? It's _Girl Interrupted_ , padded room crazy shit. And now I'm -- " He cuts himself off, and puts his hands up, then turns back to the laptop. "Whatever. Order breakfast. Lunch. Whatever it is."

It makes you pause. "Strider," you say.

He doesn't turn around. "Yeah?"

You think it through, again. "Dave."

His shoulders relax. "Yeah."

"Thanks."

"Yeah," he says, quietly.

You pick up the menu and the phone, and avert your eyes from him. He needs time, even if your time is running out. You can wait.

\--

_A century in the past..._

An ANCIENT EMPRESS holds a human wiggler in her arms.

It disgusts her, as all such things do. She is not a jadeblood; she is not meant to care for things, to keep them from dying. The glory of her race was -- is -- her only priority.

The wiggler is wiggling, appropriately, she supposes. The EMPRESS wishes she could throw it to the ground and shatter it. But the power that's been given to her; the things she can do; the things that she's seen; the things that she's done; the price she's had to pay for it; it's all led up to this, and what will come far too soon after.

She has no choice. She must be ready, now. Humanity is frail, and will be easy to break. 

The troll race will rise again. Her Master will bleed candy red and taste defeat, or she will at last find freedom from a multiverse in which she serves no purpose.

It's too early to tell. But either way, she's gonna make him pay.


	2. Chapter 2

You step out of the shower, don't bother with more than that and a brush through your hair, and are a little grateful that Dave is completely distracted by something other than that you're naked under that towel when you leave the bathroom.

You didn't bargain for the crush lasting this long, for it being an actual real thing, or for lots of other things you’re not willing to discuss even in the privacy of your own head.

You realize as you walk towards the bag of clothes you've bought that he's crouched by the bed, staring at something, so you approach him and look down.

"Crocker," he says quietly. "That's why you wouldn't tell me. I get it."

You don't think you can speak.

Your placronym must have gotten kicked out of your sylladex while you were rearranging things for space, because Dave's holding it like it might explode. He stands up, not looking at you, just looking at it -- thank the Old Gods. He throws it into the air and in an instant his sword flashes out and the two pieces of your placronym go flying and clatter as they hit opposite sides of the room.

"That always looks way cooler in movies," he says, glancing back at the piece that's on the windowsill.

"Physics," you say, as casually as you can. "But it still looked pretty cool."

You can practically feel him smiling there. You hold onto your towel as you bend to pick up the nearest piece. _Rose_ , it says.

"Pretty much the only part that matters, right?" he says flippantly.

It moves you. Deeply. Embarrassingly so. You would cry, if you weren't saving that for a full-blown Jade-related freakout. Instead, you say, "Lalonde."

"What?"

"Lalonde. Rose Lalonde." You look at him; he looks at you. There's a moment of silence, then you raise your eyebrows at him. "That's my name."

He's got that look on his face again, the one that mortifies you and confuses you but inevitably means nothing. Nothing can come of it. That's not what this story is, and you can't afford for it to be that story anyway. You should want it to stop. "Lalonde," he repeats. "It's a little pretentious. Works on you."

"You should talk," you say. There is a palpable shift between the two of you, then, which can easily be summed up as _we both know I'm naked under this towel_. Dammit, Dave.

You captchalogue the single piece of your placronym and go to pick some clothes out of one of the bags of clothes you bought earlier today, completely silent and ignoring the awkwardness, when he fumbles words out of his mouth, or at least one. "...Rose -- "

"What?" you ask, delicately.

A steady pause, then. "Nothing."

It's clearly not nothing. You nod and go to get dressed, blow-dry your hair, and stare at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is crooked and ridiculous. You start to laugh, just for a second, then you're really and truly hit with all of what's happened, all of it, the good, the bad, and the absurd, and you _can't stop_.

Jade is dead. You're free! But Jade's dead! You're free but it's because your bitch alien batterwitch "mom" let you go, what's _that_ about? _Why has your awesome "defeat the alien empress" plan turned into a YA novel???_

About a minute after you're starting to feel the giggle pain in your ribs, Dave knocks on the door. "Everything sane in there?" he asks.

Intellectually, you have to give him credit for even bothering. Intellectually, you know you have to answer, because it's the first time this has felt right and real in a long time. ...But you can't answer. You can't do anything. Your stomach wrenches and you sob, once, and go stiff where you stand.

"Rose?"

Oh god oh god oh god. If you open your mouth, if you move, it's going to happen. You don't want it to -- you _can't_.

"Uh," Dave says from the other side of the door -- he has his head up against it, you think, based on the muffled sound of his voice -- "I'm checking out the pay-per-views. You, uh... take your time."

You don't have a choice. You open the door, slip past him, and retrieve your laptop from your sylladex. He watches you, wary and silent, as you look through the encrypted channel (to no avail). You will him to say something, to be an idiot, to be anything but this stranger, and -- 

"You need a haircut," he says. "An actual haircut. I'll go with you."

It's not what you expected him to say. It rarely is, though. The giggles threaten to start again, and you touch and tug at your short, crooked hair; you have quickly figured out that this reaction you're having is bad, and nothing good will come of it. "Yes," you agree.

"Somehow you're even weirder than I expected you to be," Dave admits, dryly enough.

It's automatic; you look up at him, into his shades, all sly and from under your eyelashes, and you say, "I'd figured that was part of the draw."

Dave's posture changes completely, from drawing closer to defense. "Come on," he tries.

It's a disappointingly lackluster response. "You used to be so good at this," you say, and push your hair behind your ears.

"What?" That snaps you out of it. You didn't realize what you were saying, the conversation you could have started, but he shakes it off anyway. "I. Uh. I don't know what you want to do now. After all this. But."

"But," you prompt him.

"But I'll help. Obviously."

Somehow, not what you expected. Reassuring, yes, helpful, also yes, exactly what you wanted, definitely yes. But you're not sure you want it anymore. "You already helped," you remind him. "Go back home."

"How do I -- " He looks like he's going to say something, but stops himself, and starts again. "Look, yeah, you're fucked, I get that. In case you forgot, though, you dragged me into this, I did all that hacking, and I stole a shitton of BCCorp's money, so I am pretty good and fucked too."

You selectively answer from that pile of accusations. "Your dad and his bros have connections, right?"

Dave goes silent and guarded again. You wonder -- "Too much coincidence," he says, rapidly. "They were after Jade's shit, all this time. I sided with her -- with Jade, with _you_. I think I'm fucked on that front."

"He's your dad," you remind him, just as guarded.

"Adoptive," he answers immediately, and makes a face. "God, that sounds fucked up. I mean. I."

He's not going to say it. But it's written all over his face for anyone who knows or suspects the massive, and actually true, conspiracy behind all their lives. He knows it wasn’t right, that it didn’t fit, just as you knew your "mom" wasn’t right even before Jade told you the truth.

"Tell me this wasn't -- some -- " He looks away, pushes his shades just slightly up his nose. "Was the whole thing a plan? From the beginning? You knew I could hack and program. Jade knew, too, she -- "

"Dave," you cut in, and pause; there’s a hollow ache in your chest. "You really don't remember."

You've caught him totally off-guard, the one time you really don't want to. "Remember what?" he says.

"Tell me you remember something." You're being an idiot and you know it. "Anything, from the dreams, they have to be helping -- please, tell me you’re remembering -- "

"The dreams?" he interrupts you, now, horrified. "Jesus, Rose!" He presses his face into his hands at first, then throws them in the air when it's not sufficiently indignant. "I'm fucking serious about this and you're pulling your Sabrina the Teenage Psychologist shit on me? What the _fuck_?"

"That is such a dated reference," you say, before you can help yourself. "Were you even old enough to read when that was on the air?"

"What the _fuck_ ," Dave repeats; his shades have slipped down his nose some in his frantic indignation, and you freeze at even an instant of direct gaze. "I am not fucking around, I want to know if you've got a little Dave chess piece you're moving around in some game against your sea-alien mom, and maybe just for once to know what the fuck is actually _going on_ , since as far as I can tell all you're doing is checking your fucking e-mail -- "

"I am not checking my fucking e-mail," you say, as neutrally as you can, and close your laptop pointedly. Your chest hurts, your throat burns, and you wish you could abscond. What are you supposed to do? Jade had plans about this, Jade knew how to deal with this, and that's why she killed Jade, because Jade knew what to do and how to -- oh, god, _Jade_ \--

"Rose," he says, he says your name for the millionth time today, and you just picture your broken placronym, and -- he's talking again. "Rose, come in, Rose, I'm trying to have a conversation with you when we're in the same room, how is it even harder to get answers out of you _in person_?"

"Because I don't have time to think up a pithy comment or a lie," you say, honestly, in the same mild tone.

"So tell the truth?" he suggests, not as nastily as he could, to his credit.

"The truth is -- " Your throat feels raw now. "You already know the truth. You're... understandably having issues with it. But you know it."

"I can always count on you for riddles and bullshit, I'm not in the mood, Rose, fucking tell me the truth -- " 

" _I am telling the truth_ ," you snap back at him.

You wonder when he got so close to you, close enough that you can see the flush in his cheeks from anger (or whatever). He looks down at you, measured, and says, "Try harder to sound like a person who isn't taking crazy pills and then tell me the truth again."

There's really no plan you have in mind for what you're going to say, so it just sort of happens. "The truth is the world's going to end soon if no one does anything, and Jade and I needed people to help, and she knew about you, and I don't care if it pisses you off that this was part of a plan," you add in the middle there, "because it's worth it so the world doesn't end. And if you're going to call me insane again I'll remind you who my 'mom' is and that you saw her up close and personal."

"Yeah, fine," Dave snaps back, his face all pink now, "but you can't seriously think it's okay to just lie to me for a year and ruin my life, because -- _you could have told me_."

"Jade was supposed to do this part," you say, your tone and words less sharp and barbed and weaponized than you wanted them to be. All you can see, now, you can't see Dave, you can't see your computer, not really, all that your brain's registering now is the image burned to your retinas of Jade skewered like she was a kabob on your mother's trident and left to die. "Jade had... she knew what to say. She had -- "

Dave seems less surprised than you are when you start crying. It's ugly, and quiet, and you cram your hands over your mouth to keep from making any noise. There are a lot of tears even though you're holding back as best you can, and they're sneaking to drip off your fingertips and along rivulets of your skin, and it almost tickles. That's important to note. It's important to think about anything except what's happening.

You're frantically pushing the tears off of your face and there's this horrible, amazing tug in your stomach. You feel _powerful_. _Incredible_. It's like powering the THORNS, but at least ten times better, and you're almost ecstatic though it feels like your hands are on fire.

" _Rose_!"

Dave's grabbed your hands and your throat stops on a half-laugh, half-sob you didn't realize you were even suffering through, and he just looks at you steadily, shades all uneven on his face. "It's okay," he says.

"It's not even slightly okay," you say, "but I appreciate the comforting lie."

He doesn't look impressed at that. You don't care. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm getting a haircut, like you said." You hold onto his hands, gently, in return, and you swear you can feel his breath stop in his chest. "Then we get something to eat."

"Oh good," he says, deadpan. "An actual first date."

You raise your eyebrows at him, he stands his ground, and... that's it. You captchalogue your laptop again, stand up, and sidle past him. "Got the card?"

"One card? Please. We have five."

"Then we're gold."

"They're mostly platinum, actually."

The corner of your mouth turns up, but you easily stifle it, pulling on your hoodie. "Grab a sweatshirt. You're not in Austin anymore."

"Tell me about it," he mumbles, and follows you out of the door soon enough.

\--

You have things to do, so you finish up then head to the salon where Rose is getting her hair cut. They’re not done, for some reason. You pester her instead of just sulking at the situation, because she looks bored and not even slightly interested in making chit-chat with the hairdresser, and you are also incredibly bored.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 3:34 --
> 
> TG: tell me something
> 
> TG: about jade
> 
> TG: how did that happen

She reaches for her PDA and stays perfectly still, the screen at the perfect angle for both sight and typing.

> TT: I see what's going on.
> 
> TT: You're incredibly transparent.
> 
> TG: youre actually being honest
> 
> TG: so maybe i finally want to know shit
> 
> TG: im not a total asshole
> 
> TG: dunno if you can wrap your head around that
> 
> TT: I get that. I know that.
> 
> TG: so tell me
> 
> TT: Fine.
> 
> TT: When I was ten, she sent me something. A USB that let me tap an encrypted channel.
> 
> TT: We've been talking ever since.
> 
> TT: She promised me she'd help me get out, that she knew I would, and that I had to.
> 
> TT: She told me I was right about my mother,
> 
> TT: That I was right about the propaganda signal.
> 
> TG: the what
> 
> TT: It's everywhere. It's in all broadcasts, over all audio, video, anything.
> 
> TT: You've heard it for what it is. I'm sure you have.
> 
> TT: There's nothing quite like that dead monotone voice.
> 
> TT: Or her voice. Are you telling me you never heard her voice?
> 
> TG: why do you think ive heard it
> 
> TT: Because you're special.
> 
> TG: oh jesus christ
> 
> TG: thats why you picked me
> 
> TG: im special
> 
> TG: rose that is so stupid
> 
> TT: I'm special. So are you. We're the only hope the world has.
> 
> TT: Deal with it.
> 
> TG: are you sure jade wasnt just full of shit or read too much animanga or shit
> 
> TT: I am sure she did not read too much animanga.
> 
> TT: You're going to have to trust me on this.
> 
> TG: so how are we going to save the world
> 
> TG: tell me that
> 
> TT: There are people. There's Jade's technology. And there's our particular skills.
> 
> TG: your magic my skillz got it
> 
> TG: no way we can take down bccorp though
> 
> TG: thats insane
> 
> TT: We're better-equipped than you'd think.
> 
> TT: We can talk about this more over dinner.

She glances over to you, that sly look on her face, and you have a hard time breathing for a second.

> TT: What do you think? French? Italian? Something with candles?
> 
> TG: i was thinking mcdonalds
> 
> TT: You don't even want to know what's in their food.
> 
> TG: what youre telling me that the batterwitch put people in the fries or something
> 
> TG: no way
> 
> TG: no wonder theyre delicious
> 
> TT: I was thinking Korean, honestly.
> 
> TG: no
> 
> TT: I think you've been outvoted.
> 
> TG: how could i possibly be outvoted
> 
> TT: I'm the girl. And this haircut gets a vote, too, just for today.
> 
> TG: this isnt a date
> 
> TT: Are you sure?

Shit. You can practically feel her smiling over there.

> TG: how long could that haircut possibly take
> 
> TT: That was a terrible deflection.
> 
> TG: were supposed to keep the world from ending
> 
> TG: dont think flirting was part of jades plan
> 
> TG: was it
> 
> TT: Jade's gone.
> 
> TT: But we'll figure it out as we go.
> 
> TT: You need to take the encrypted channel. Find whoever's left.
> 
> TT: Find the hippies, as you call them.
> 
> TT: I have other plans.
> 
> TG: like what
> 
> TT: Like helping those Crockercorp's ruined everything for.
> 
> TT: I may send some of them your way,
> 
> TT: But there's a lot of them who can't reintegrate. Or who won't be safe out in the world.
> 
> TT: That's my job.
> 
> TT: You'll need to establish a base for the others.
> 
> TT: I suggest a big city. Somewhere they won't expect you to go.
> 
> TG: okay
> 
> TG: whatever
> 
> TG: ill look for "good places to create a revolutionary base"
> 
> TG: google should cover that right
> 
> TG: wikihow
> 
> TG: theres "how to dispose of a body" on there
> 
> TT: Are you going to contact your father?

Your thumbs freeze on your PDA.

> TG: so how about that sports team
> 
> TG: and that weather
> 
> TT: Point taken.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 3:45 --

Eventually, later, you are at the damn Korean restaurant, because Rose always wins and there's no real point in arguing about something like this when you can be a stupid asshole about things even more pointless.

"We're going to pick up our stuff from the hotel and go," Rose says, picking at her food.

This food is delicious. You really weren't paying attention to anything she said before that. "Go where?"

"You're going to follow the channel and Jade’s notes to whoever can join us. Recruitment. I'm going back to Maryland and hoping there's something there. If not -- I'll be around. You know where to find me."

"I think telling me nothing about where you're going to go means I won't." You pause as it sinks in. "Oh. Okay. Pesterchum. Got it."

She raises her eyebrows at you. "You're wearing those sunglasses in a restaurant."

Now you're defensive. "I like them. I bought them off of eBay."

"Really, that's how you got them?"

"What's wrong with eBay?" You're a little offended. "I've gotten awesome shit off eBay."

"Random dead things?" Rose guesses.

"How the hell could you know that?" This is always so weird. "Are you psychic? Are you a psychic witch now?"

"I saw some of them in your suitcase. Do you bring them with you everywhere or something?"

"I was pretty sure you were dragging me into serious shit and they're worth money. I didn't realize I was going to cash the fuck in here, so I'm not selling shit." You pause. "So this is it?"

"Yes." She looks at you, levelly, an attempt to look you right in the eye. Before you can stop yourself, you’re looking over your shades in return. It takes her off-guard again, like she didn't expect you to meet her halfway; you kind of like that. "This is it."

"I knew it." You shake your head. "Cool. When the revolution comes, Rose'll be mysterious, makes sense to me, nothing new there."

"You resent that I'm leaving," she says slowly.

"I don't care if you're leaving," you say, before you can think of something less stupid to say. Then you add, "So long as you let me know what the hell is up."

"I will let you know what's up." She's looking at you with pity, almost, and searching your face for something that you can't imagine because you're not going to let her see shit, and anyway there's nothing going on. You're fine. "Dave. It's going to be fine."

"Yeah. I have no idea how any of this could go wrong." Why do you have that tone of voice? Jesus. You're losing control. You tamp that shit down. "You're full of shit, but whatever, I'm game. Nothing else to do when you're on the run from the law."

"I'm not leaving you behind," Rose says, steadily, and holds your gaze once you make the mistake of looking up from your plate. "Don't ever think that. I never -- I never will."

You just stare at her, nod, and look down at your plate.

The two of you eat in silence, pay the check with a gold card, and you silently hand her the envelope. She looks inside and says nothing, so you take a deep breath and talk about .~ath programming until you get to the hotel.

Once you’re packed, you look up to see her looking at you with a facial expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen on a person’s face. It’s confusing. It’s like a smile but really, really not like one. You don’t know what to say or what to do, so you just check your hair like some kind of girl, so you must be really fucking stupid right now.

"See you later, Dave," she says. Before you can answer, she's engulfed you in a hug. You freeze, then slip an arm around her and pat her shoulder. Then she's stepped away as though nothing's happened, and you manage, "I'll see you," in a strained voice.

She smiles, just barely, that smile that cuts into you like you're some kind of moron who actually takes Rose Lalonde seriously, and you put up your own defenses, a quirk of the corner of your mouth. She turns to leave, and, once the door is shut behind her, you shut your suitcase and take a deep breath.

Time to go save the world.

You are so not ready for this.

\-- 

Technically, you never wanted to come back to Maryland.

The thing is, more than anything, you want to honor Jade's memory and carry on her work. And that means going back to Maryland.

It's not a particularly long trip. The robot, who you have affectionately dubbed Nigel Metalbury, drives you the entire way without a single complaint, as he is a robot. It occurs to you about halfway through the trip that you really need to learn how to drive if you're going to try to save the world, as classy as it would be to be the chosen one to save the world who's driven by a robot chauffeur.

Your favorite part of the trip is repeatedly going through the credit cards Dave got especially for you, as _Rose Lalonde_ is emblazoned on each of them.

You're you. And you're smiling, vividly, even if it's not visible from the outside.

BCCorp Maryland is still practically a crater. The bodies have been cleared, and probably incinerated. You've been there when she's burnt bodies before, and the smell is horrific. She must have taken them elsewhere, though, because none of the smokestacks are going.

No one is here, that you can see. Either she's taken everything offsite, or this is a trap, or both. You have the distinct feeling that this might be a trap, actually. The fault with that idea is that she let you and Dave go -- if she wanted you dead, you'd be dead. You have never claimed to understand Fish-Alien Mom's machinations, though.

There’s too many buildings on this compound. You’re going to be here all night, and maybe at least part of tomorrow. There’s a reason you bought energy drinks before you left, even if you hate them on principle. You like sleep, most of the time.

You start at 37A. For some reason, this is the first building at BCCorp Maryland, which bodes interestingly for how many other compounds there must be. It’s a small building, at least, ostensibly just the guard house on the lower level(s?) and labs on the floors above.

Best to get the guards out of the way early, you figure, if there are any. If any survived. If you had any doubt she had no regard for human life, the wholesale slaughter of her own employees-slash-slaves sealed it.

Wait. _Wait._ You pause.

_How did you manage to survive?_

A question for another time. For now, you arm yourself.

The guard rooms are mysteriously empty. The cameras are still going. Are they recording? You look around and hope you can check without bothering Dave. Yes. They’re still recording.

Do you want to be seen by her? You almost do -- fuck her -- but it’ll undermine your plans.

You turn on speech-to-text. Hands-on is not going to work for you here.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 9:45 --
> 
> TT: I need you to hack Maryland’s system with the program I gave you. Kill the cameras.
> 
> TG: theyre still on
> 
> TG: why
> 
> TT: She knew I’d be coming back. Probably wants to watch me lass scamper everywhere.
> 
> TT: Kill the cameras.
> 
> TG: whats the magic word
> 
> TT: Password 123.
> 
> TG: fine whatever
> 
> TG: for someone all ladylike you suck at manners
> 
> TT: You think I’m ladylike?
> 
> TT: Is that the adjective that comes to mind?
> 
> TG: nope
> 
> TG: not doing this
> 
> TT: As you will.
> 
> TG: killed the cameras
> 
> TG: you know ive got shit up too
> 
> TT: Yes. I do.
> 
> TG: so
> 
> TT: So I need help.
> 
> TT: I’m going to need help sometimes.
> 
> TT: I learned that some time ago.
> 
> TG: okay
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TT: Yes.

You’re halfway up the stairs (no elevators for you, that’s for damn sure) when he answers.

> TG: fuck
> 
> TG: dont want to start this shit again
> 
> TG: but
> 
> TG: dreams and shit

You stop dead.

> TT: Tell me.
> 
> TG: arent you busy
> 
> TT: I want to know.
> 
> TG: weird shit
> 
> TG: not to go all wizard of oz
> 
> TG: but you were there
> 
> TT: And?
> 
> TG: we died
> 
> TT: Normal reaction to high stress.
> 
> TT: I’m not surprised.
> 
> TG: we came back

You breathe slowly.

> TT: Hmm.
> 
> TG: great
> 
> TG: brought the hmm on myself now
> 
> TG: cant complain this time
> 
> TT: I should go.
> 
> TT: I heard something.
> 
> TG: k
> 
> TT: More later.
> 
> TG: cool

You didn’t hear a damn thing. You just needed out.

Actually, you don’t hear anything. At all. It’s too quiet. It’s not even a classic movie trope joke; it’s too quiet, and you feel like something or someone is watching you, for no discernible or logical reason.

You do know to at least consider your instincts, as your intellect is very useful but not exactly completely flawlessly correct at all times.

You go to the next floor. Everything is pitch dark in the hallways, at least; there should be windows in the rooms based on a skim of the building outside, but it _is_ night, so it likely won’t help much. You’re going to need some kind of light source if you don’t want something to sneak up on you and kill you, as that would be a major anticlimax after all the surviving you’ve been doing. You break out your HUBTOPBAND and hope the software Jade gave you to access the compound's security and power will work on it.

It doesn’t. And even if it’d be useful to have light, you’re not particularly keen on your only option for getting it, which would be talking to Dave, right now. You turn on the night-vision on your HUBTOPBAND.

The first door you try is open. Everything is still, silent, and dark, no windows, and you’re just waiting for the inevitable jumpscare. This is not a horror movie, this is not OH GOD you just tripped over something.

You look down. It’s an arm. It’s very clearly an arm. It’s an arm with grey skin and claws and crusted dark red blood on the stump that used to be connected to the shoulder.

You take a deep breath, lift your gaze and your foot, and step over the arm.

This room distinctly smells like death, rotted flesh and formaldehyde, you realize; someone was attempting to mask it with something sweet but soft, less perfume or air freshener than something floral piped through vents. It almost worked, but not quite, and as you walk through the lab tables you see that there are no end to the body parts, most of which are preserved. You’re starting to suspect someone was doing something with the arm when everything went wrong, dropped it, and ran for their life, considering what happened here days ago. Other than the arm on the floor, though, this is disturbing but completely orderly, for a lab full of body parts.

There’s an actual sound, distant, on the same floor. To your credit, you do not jump.

> TG: btw
> 
> TG: busted the encryption
> 
> TG: you let me remote into your machine and your headband ill give you access easy
> 
> TT: Dave.
> 
> TT: I’m still at the Maryland compound.
> 
> TG: hey look trying to help
> 
> TG: besides you wanna be busted
> 
> TG: not like batterwitch
> 
> TG: wait oh shit
> 
> TG: this is what i mean
> 
> TG: the nsa is gonna be on my ass now
> 
> TG: encryption
> 
> TG: good thing
> 
> TT: I need my computer to see.
> 
> TG: i can turn the lights on
> 
> TG: did you not just mention asking for help is good
> 
> TG: yeah you did
> 
> TT: I remember.
> 
> TG: let me do it then
> 
> TT: I don’t know if that’s a good idea.
> 
> TG: what
> 
> TG: why not
> 
> TT: Call it instinct.
> 
> TG: look i dont want you to die because of your womans intuition or whatever
> 
> TG: im giving you some damn light
> 
> TT: "Woman’s intuition"?
> 
> TT: Dave.

The lights turn on. You’re temporarily blinded, and swear.

> TT: Shit!
> 
> TG: lol
> 
> TT: Shut up, Dave.
> 
> TG: you never swear
> 
> TG: there lights are better right
> 
> TG: what do you say
> 
> TT: Thanks. For not listening to me.

You turn off the night-vision, and the hum of lights permeates the building. Promptly, there’s unearthly screeching down the hallway, and you _do_ jump at that.

> TT: Shit, shit.
> 
> TG: what
> 
> TT: I have to go.
> 
> TG: uh okay
> 
> TG: let me know shit
> 
> TG: please
> 
> TG: ill remote in when you go idle
> 
> TG: put in the encryption
> 
> TT: Great.
> 
> TG: all in a days work general

You ignore all that, and your hands tense on the THORNS. It’s not a far walk to where the apparent screeching must have come from -- now you can just hear whimpers -- there’s a room marked with a biohazard symbol and a sign: "classified project" followed by "level 5 personnel only". That is the clearest "Please don’t open this door and find our human experimentation lab" sign you’ve ever seen, not that you’ve seen many (or any). You have lived here for nearly seventeen years, though, and you know the sort of creative marketing that goes on.

Either way, it’s a little conspicuous.

You slowly open the door. You notice a sudden movement from the corner of your eye, and you turn, stupidly, to see nothing. Then someone speaks.

"Are you real?" The male voice is weak, hollow, and audibly sure that nothing will come of this. "I’m. It’s. Fuck."

Your throat stops, in spite of yourself, in... pity? Fear? Hard to tell. "I am," you say finally. "Where are you?"

The lights don’t seem to touch the walls, so you can’t really see the glass cabinets lining them, or whatever’s in them. "Here," he says, and you follow his voice.

There’s a -- an -- you are not absolutely sure what it is, but it was once human, now all sharp teeth and claws and its throat in shreds. The guy three feet from it is wiping his mouth, eyes wide and shining in the light. Then he sees you, pushes himself up, and stumbles in the effort.

"Wait. Hey," you chide him, and help him up. "Take it slow."

"John," he says; his face is paleish green, but he glows with appreciation and awe of you, and you try not to think about that too hard. "I’m John."

"Rose," you answer. "Rose Lalonde." It feels _so good_ to be able to say that for real. "I’m getting you out of here."

"It was going to kill me. He, he, _he_ was going to kill me," John insists, panicked all of the sudden; his gaze is on the deformed experiment. "I had no choice -- "

"I’m not judging," you assure him. "I -- need you to hide. I’ll come back for you."

"No," he says heatedly. "Fuck that. I’m coming with."

You pause. "There might be -- "

"Lalonde, I’ve seen worse shit," he says, and gestures pointedly around the lab. "Take a look."

"Who says this -- " _Oh_. Now that you look, the glass cabinets, or what you thought were cabinets, are _encased people_. People, you realize, who are like that person with no throat and too sharp of teeth, some dozing comfortably, at least a dozen of nineteen dead. "John," you say, calmly as you can manage. "What’s going on? Did you work here?"

He laughs, plainly bitter. "Here? No."

"Well, we..." What can you even do for people this far gone? Jade isn’t here to help, Jade is so far gone and away and she would know -- _no_ , you can’t slip into that frame of mind. "Well, _shit_."

John is still beside you. "We should kill them," he says.

You turn to him, actually astounded. "What?"

"It’s that or they wake up, figure out how to work the doors, and go insane once they hit the lights." He points at the dead one. "Like he did."

"So we turn off the lights," you say, more certainly than you feel.

"We turn off life support and lock them in," he says, hands balled into fists. "It’s crueler to let them live like that."

You don’t know who you’re allying yourself with right now, who this guy is, but you really don’t feel like you can actually judge him. You’re not actually better. Are you? You wonder what Jade would say.

Then your mouth goes dry. Jade is dead. She lost. You wonder how much of a bitch it makes you to even think that way, or how naive it makes you to think you can carry on like she did and win. You don’t have the time to make this decision, not once and for all. "Do what you have to do," you say, finally. "I’ll be back soon."

John seems ready to do what he has to do, so you go before you have to think about it too much.

He’s right. Nothing here is worse than that. Just a lot of leftover grist, broken alien tech you're almost entirely certain is useless, but it all goes into the sylladex or the like.

You lean into the room; John's sitting on a desk and staring into space. "Let’s go," you say. You try to be Patton, to be cool, to be the kind of general that Luke thought you could be. You ignore the slumped bodies, faces pressed against the glass of their holding cells, and keep your gaze on John as he looks back at you.

He shakily smiles. "Lead the way, boss."

\--

 _September 2003_  
You have so many tabs open and you have _had_ so many tabs open you don't remember what it was like to have non-tabbed windows or to not have windows with more than one tab. Tabs have invaded your life like the aliens in Independence Day, which is not a great thing to think about actually, damn it. 

Anyway. You never thought you'd do this much shit in a timeframe like this, ever, and it's not like you were sitting on your ass before. You have led a super serious awesome busy lifestyle. This is just way more super serious awesome busy, with less awesome and more busy, also with way more paranoia.

As for the invasion of the tabs, you've spent more time on messageboards, like, full-blown 1995-era shit, the toilet bowl of internet ads, Craigslist, and every possible treehugging political website in existence in any language, in the last three weeks than you ever thought you would have to. It kind of pisses you off. 

Someone pulls a chair back behind you; you look around, see some thirtysomething business guy wander off without even considering you, and push your shades up. The baristas seem to have decided you're just some dumb American. To that you say, to yourself, _enjoy being puppets to the batterwitch, eurotrash._

But you don't really mean it. Europe is cool, so far.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 1:04 --
> 
> TG: hey
> 
> TG: im in geneva
> 
> TG: home of sketchy bank accounts
> 
> TG: and neutrality
> 
> TG: you want anything
> 
> TG: guess they sell chocolate
> 
> TT: Dave.
> 
> TG: yeah yeah
> 
> TG: just checking in
> 
> TG: you said
> 
> TT: It was you who insisted. But I agree. It's important that we keep in touch.
> 
> TG: ok
> 
> TG: well
> 
> TG: germans are a big no so far
> 
> TG: got one group and came here to meet em but
> 
> TG: uh
> 
> TG: most of em showed up in the obits instead
> 
> TG: dont really wanna go to france
> 
> TT: Use my surname. They'll be more interested.
> 
> TG: not worried about interest there
> 
> TG: checked uh literally everything under .fr
> 
> TG: french college students are fucking crazy and everywhere
> 
> TG: fighting the government over like nothing
> 
> TG: we bring em in we might get overthrown
> 
> TG: by the french
> 
> TG: not cool
> 
> TT: I doubt they protest over nothing, but I follow your point in general.
> 
> TT: We could use a toehold in France. Ask the others to reach their contacts, maybe? I’d prefer if they deal with us, but if need be we should be able to rely on who you already have.
> 
> TG: yeah definitely
> 
> TG: working on the others now
> 
> TT: How many do you have?
> 
> TT: Is anyone coming back with you?
> 
> TG: nope
> 
> TG: and around fifty
> 
> TG: all said theyd keep in touch
> 
> TG: gave them the channel
> 
> TT: Is that wise?
> 
> TG: dunno
> 
> TG: seemed legit to me
> 
> TT: Great.
> 
> TT: Go to India next. I know Jade knew people there.
> 
> TG: she did computer tech of course she knew people in india
> 
> TT: Bit racist. Not wrong. Not what I mean, though.
> 
> TG: i know
> 
> TG: what about you
> 
> TG: whats general lalonde up to
> 
> TT: Busy. Up to lots of things.
> 
> TG: wow
> 
> TG: super descriptive
> 
> TT: Jade found some places for people to hide. I'll e-mail you that info, because you may need to send some into witness protection.
> 
> TT: Also I found someone you should meet.
> 
> TT: I doubt you'll get along.
> 
> TT: Don't be offended if you don't.
> 
> TG: uh
> 
> TG: ok
> 
> TT: I just mean, he may be abrasive, and I've weighed that against his usefulness.
> 
> TT: He's with us.
> 
> TG: already said ok
> 
> TG: you safe
> 
> TT: What?
> 
> TG: are you safe
> 
> TG: ok
> 
> TG: etc
> 
> TT: Dave.
> 
> TT: Yes.
> 
> TT: I am safe.
> 
> TG: have to ask
> 
> TG: you dont tell me shit
> 
> TG: you could be bleeding out and i wouldnt know
> 
> TT: I know.
> 
> TT: But please.

You watch the cursor blink.

> TG: yeah
> 
> TG: could go for more where the fuck is rose and why info
> 
> TG: but
> 
> TG: youre the general
> 
> TT: That's right.
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 1:16 --

Some guy sits down next to you, takes out his computer, starts it up, and touches your shoulder all in about a minute. You practically flinch, your hand on the hilt of your sword in its disguised sheath, then glare at him. "Can I help you?"

"I know who you are," he says, and grins. He's a kid, maybe a teenager, black, dark-skinned enough that his teeth could not look whiter, and his accent is weird as fuck, not something you've ever heard. "You're Dave Str -- "

You throw a hand up in the air to shut him up the second you hear the "D" sound leave his mouth, and it only registers right before he practically says your last name. "Shut up," you suggest.

"Now you know I know who you are, and I know you want to know why," the kid goes on, and holds out his hand. "I'm Mark."

That is such a douchebag name, as in a name douchebags have, you note, but go ahead and shake his hand. "Yeah. So. We can go somewhere else."

"Not necessary." Mark logs into the computer and pulls up Nyx-based Pesterchum, and you watch him sign in. "The one thing," he says, "is that I don't know your handle."

That reassures you some. "Why should I give it to you?"

"Because if I wanted to hurt you or reveal you as what you are, you would already be dead or imprisoned," he points out.

You kind of want to repeat that in a sarcastic nyeh-nyeh voice but you decide to refrain. You look at his screen, and then pester him.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering burntPromises [BP] at 1:20 --
> 
> TG: yeah so
> 
> TG: say your shit
> 
> TG: or forever hold your dick
> 
> BP: Very mature.
> 
> BP: But all right.
> 
> BP: I am here to offer my services to the efforts that you and your friend Miss Crocker are mounting.

You get really pissed off in a split second and he probably sees that because he's sitting right next to you and has working eyes and ears.

> TG: thats not her name
> 
> BP: Yes.
> 
> BP: I saw you changed the name for her credit cards.
> 
> TG: what the fuck
> 
> TG: protip
> 
> TG: dont hack the people you want to help
> 
> BP: I looked into it. I want to help. I have nowhere to go, no protection.
> 
> BP: I've run out of money.
> 
> TG: you expect me to protect some guy
> 
> TG: who i dont know
> 
> TG: because he says he can help
> 
> TG: you say that and all i hear is "spy spy spy spy spy spy. spy spy spy"
> 
> BP: Rose must trust you.
> 
> BP: Why don't you trust me?
> 
> TG: man whatever
> 
> TG: one sec

You pull up your window with Rose.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 1:23 --
> 
> TG: whos this guy
> 
> TG: the one you said
> 
> TG: the one i wouldnt like
> 
> TT: It's more likely he wouldn't like you and you’d pretend not to care.
> 
> TT: As far as I can project.
> 
> TT: Why?
> 
> TG: because he might be sitting next to me
> 
> TT: That is thoroughly impossible.
> 
> TG: why
> 
> TT: Because he's with me. You must have found someone else.
> 
> TG: yeah

You're not about to say "he found me." Nope.

> TG: hes an asshole
> 
> TG: i vote no
> 
> TT: What does he have to offer?

You look over at him, skeptically. He looks back at you. You look back to your computer screen.

> TG: he hacks
> 
> TG: knows who we are
> 
> TG: says he needs help
> 
> TG: protection
> 
> TG: still dont trust him
> 
> TT: What would make you trust him?
> 
> TT: What would it take?
> 
> TG: uh

You look over at him yet again to check him out, then you turn to your computer in a desperate effort not to be as visibly immature as you're feeling.

> TG: prove it
> 
> BP: Prove that I'm not a Crocker spy?
> 
> TG: yeah that

He starts to laugh next to you, like you've just made an awesome priest, rabbi, and a sexy fish-alien walk into a bar joke.

"You'll love this," he says, logs off of the computer, and packs it up. "My hostel's ten minutes' walk from here. Let's talk."

You already kind of hate this. No one said saving the world meant you'd have to put up with assholes on your own side, but now that you think about it, assholes are an inevitability no matter where you go.

In that moment, you remember your dad saying something along those lines, and you miss him before you can stop yourself. You shut your laptop instantly, loudly, to make yourself focus.

"Let's go," you agree.

It’s annoying how right he is, how smart he is, all of it. What’s really annoying is his theoretical projection of the brainwashing algorithm, as neatly outlined as the organized but scorched pieces of the tech he found that boosts the signal. It’s all incredibly annoying, but so useful that you can’t hold his douchiness against him.

He looks so smug. You sigh. "How old are you again?"

"Heh," he says, and grins.

\--

 _October 2003_  
It’s been a month. It feels like it’s been a few. Day after day of the mission, chasing endless leads and only freeing two or three people who’d been experimented on, the dead bodies otherwise, it all weighs on you. There have been no breaks, just the work. You suppose it follows

There are three guards. You wish you had the signal-killing technology. It’s a lot harder to reason with people under the signal, or to even detect whether the signal is going. It’s for the best to assume it is, and almost nobody can be reasoned with.

You're in the world alone. It's you, the bad guys, and their victims, and your allies are starting to look like future victims the more you stare at the ceiling at night and think about it.

But that's not going to help right now, or possibly ever. You run your thumb over the top of your needle, forcing yourself to concentrate. You're only two buildings away.

"No point in waiting," John says, barely audibly, and leans past you to scope out the entrance to the next compound building. "Even if there’s Imperiacorp, we can handle them."

"I know we can. It’s a matter of -- " He's getting more attached to the cause than you'd ever wanted him to. You shove down some concerns, some guilt. That’s not helpful right now. "We don't have to. Not necessarily. And, to be honest, timing is everything to get through this without drowning in drones."

"Being careful will only get us so far," John retorts. "The point is seeing what’s in there. Jade said in her postmortem e-mail that it’d be in Delaware, right? This thing?"

You take a breath. "Yes, that the ‘thing’ would be in Delaware." Of all places. "And this is the most likely place. I want to make sure we can get to it with minimal issues."

"Didn’t you say we need to kill as many drones as possible?"

"We can do that without waking them up." You sigh. "Let’s go. Be careful."

"It’s almost like you don’t want adventure," John says, making a face at you, and waits for you to go ahead.

(All this does is resolve you. But all that can wait until you survive and get what you came for.)

"Hi," you greet the guards. "Do you mind directing me to Building 30A?"

"You’re not supposed to be here," the guard who's probably the boss says sharply, stepping forward.

You consider that. "I am, though. And I’m going to Building 30A. Anyone? You’re terrible tour guides."

They advance on you, the boss clicking a taser on and smiling when it crackles. "It’s her," he says to the others, not taking his gaze off of you. "Look at her weapons."

"Am I notorious? That’s good news," you admit. "I like that." There’s a nasty crack as a baseball bat meets the back of one of the cronies’ heads, and the other two whirl to see John. You flick the needle in your hand, barely a half-second’s gesture, and a darkness briefly falls around the fight. You move quickly, grabbing the other crony and tightly lashing yarn around his neck, slamming him to the ground easily.

There’s a brief fistfight when you turn to watch John’s progress. You don’t know much about punching, but you do notice the brutal sound of John’s fist hitting the side of the boss’s head, the way he hits the ground sideways, and John shaking out his hand after. It seems effective.

"His taser wouldn’t work," John says, looking at you.

You smile innocently. "Let’s go."

30A is two buildings away from 30C (where you’d been hiding), obviously. Drones file out of the building as you approach, and you sigh heavily.

"I’m ready if you are," John says, readying his bat.

Unfortunately, this is necessary.

Ten drones later, you’re in the building and going up the elevator. "But how haven’t they seen us?" John presses you. You shrug, all innocence still.

"Fourth floor. Research and Development," the calm female voice says as the doors ping open.

There are no guards on this floor, which seems like a major oversight, but you have managed to wander past at least six cameras, so that might help. You look through four rooms until you find it behind a door marked _Level Six clearance only_.

"There’s something there." John points into the corner, and you cross from behind him to see. It’s a large machine, an important machine, and one you instantly recognize.

"Oh my god," you whisper, blown away. "We found it."

"What? What is it?" He approaches it. "It’s not going to hit me with lasers if I come near it, is it?"

"No," you say, and smile broadly. "It’s an alchemiter."

Once the other tech you’ve found, the intellistation, the punch designix, is all installed onto the alchemiter, you show him. It’s all coming back to you. Much to your chagrin, at least at first, John originally uses this to figure out how to make a "motherfucking taser bat," which is, you must admit, a practical weapon, as well as being "incredibly goddamn cool!" in John’s words.

A half hour later, on top of making genuinely helpful things, you’ve also made five different kinds of weaponized scarves and John’s got four different pairs of glasses, the most practical of which (not saying much) is a pair that finally lets him access Pesterchum easily, like a normal person.

"This is stupid," you say finally, curling the fringe of a needle-throwing scarf around your fingers. You stop playing with the damn thing, because there’s a problem.

The stupidest thing about all of this is the alchemiter itself, and that you can’t move it. You can’t captchalogue it. You can’t take a picture of it with the captchalogue camera.

This is half a loss and half a win. You’ll just have to make do with what you’ve made, or what you can make right now.

Jade knew. There’s another way. You have to trust her.

The two of you make your way back to the hotel without any further strife. You small-talk and joke with him as you go, and only say what you need to say when you’re back in the hotel room and he’s taken a seat on his bed. You’ve thought this through, today and weeks before. You just have to spring it on him so he can’t argue, at least not much.

"I'm dropping you off with a credit card and cash in case. You have to re-establish yourself in the real world." You don't let him interrupt. "You deserve this. You've earned it."

He stares at you, totally bereft, clearly not having expected this. "Rose." He looks strained. "I haven't done enough," he says finally, tone firm. "And I don't deserve that, not yet. Probably not ever."

You look back at him, your face carefully blank. "This is my rebellion. I make those calls."

He's unmoved, focused now. "And you can't afford to lose people as you're building it."

"I can't afford to sacrifice people who could get out of this and be safe."

"Rose," he says, a bite in his tone, "I don't want to get out." 

He looks betrayed. Maybe he is. But you almost get what he’s saying. Almost. "Too bad."

"I'm not leaving you."

You sit on the bed next to him. He's older than you, taller, lanky, but you really can't afford to appraise him further, even if you almost have. He's old enough that you could accurately be classified as jailbait, anyway.

Your HUBTOPBAND makes its chime that you’ve received an e-mail. You ignore it. "Make me understand," you say, as firmly as you can.

Your commanding tone starts a smile on his face, but it falters, and so does he. "People died because of me. I don’t want to go back. And you need people on the ground, someone has to do all of this."

Maybe you relate a little too much to that. People have died, people will continue to die. It's what people do. "We have people. That's what Dave's doing. So just try. We'll come ask you for help if we need you."

"I can’t," he says, without looking at you.

You catch his gaze with your own pointed one. "You have to," you say, bluntly as you can.

John’s expression hardens. "You don’t get to make my decisions for me." 

"I can refuse to let you stay with me, if it comes to that." Staying steady isn’t as simple as it was before. He's staying, fighting, all of it. You aren't Jade; you can't make promises. "Don’t make me do that, John." 

"You want to go on a suicide mission," he says, and you instantly tense. "Don’t you? You against the biggest, most asshole corporation in the world. You’re not going to win and you know it, you’re the smartest sixteen year old I’ve ever known, there’s no way you’re stupid enough to believe you can."

"Someone much smarter than you believed I could, and I’m going to honor her memory by trying," you say coolly. "Now I have to insist that you go."

He scoffs. "Because I’m right?"

"Because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. This is bigger than you think it is, and I have help, and I don’t need you -- I don’t need you risking your life."

"I -- " John shuts up, and you don’t know what to say but you’re thinking it through, then he speaks, tone cutting but quiet. "You have blood on your hands, too. Don’t you?" 

You’re not sure you can speak, now. But you have to, so he’ll understand. "Maryland," you say. "I didn’t pull the trigger. But it was aimed at me. So, yes, I have blood on my hands, and I have to do something, not to make up for it but to make sure it doesn’t happen again if I could have prevented it by keeping people safe, at any cost. That’s the difference between what I want to do and what you want to do."

He loses it, and stands to turn on you. "Why do you think you know my fucking motivations?" he demands.

You stay cool. You have to. "You framed it that way. You said people died because of you. You essentially told me that was your reason. You have to do this because you want to, because revenge will just burn you out."

John's pissed off. "You can’t tell me this isn’t revenge for you. I can tell, I can read you like a book -- I’m sure you don’t think people can, but it’s all over your face. This is payback, obviously, and you -- " 

Your patience snaps at that. "My motivations don't matter, and are more complex than you're saying."

John throws his hands up. "And mine aren't? Look, your revenge thing is _obvious_ and anyone could tell if you weren't shoving everyone away, including the only one you've bothered to keep around, until now."

You regain your composure. "Fine, I'm obvious," you say neutrally. "It doesn't matter."

He stares at you. You give nothing away, pointedly. "You don’t want to save the world. You want to take her down, personally. And I don't think that's safe."

You ignore the rest. "She deserves to be taken down," you say mildly. "I know you think so too."

"I mean that’s your priority -- "

"Leave the analysis to me, John. I’m better at it."

He pretty much glares at you. "You would ask for help if you just wanted to take her down. Defeat her. Save the world. But you’re pushing me away. And you only trust Dave. I’m not sure why."

"You don’t need to know why." Your stomach’s started to roil, but you can’t give any of that away. "I’m buying you a ticket and you’re leaving."

"I’m not."

"I’ll leave without you," you say, tone flat.

"Then do it. Leave me."

You say nothing to that, just looking casually up at him as you consider. "You’re trying to win," you say. "I’m not sure why."

"Because I want you to be safe," John says, in plainly forced calm, "and you’re an impulsive sixteen year old on a suicide mission. If I want you safe, I have to be here. You’re not going to listen to a damn word I say otherwise."

"That’s right." You relax, just slightly. "Why should I keep you?"

"You saved my life. I’m never gonna leave you, if I can help it. And I’ll do what needs to be done." He makes himself look at you. "What more could you want in a follower?"

This is stupid. It’s stupid to fight him on this. You’re not even sure why you had it in your head that he had to go; that was sentiment, not sense. You need what followers and materials you can get. "Fine. We’re leaving in a half hour. We should pack."

You wish you could sleep. Today’s been exhausting. But there’s an e-mail waiting for you. You lower the HUBTOPBAND’s screen to check the e-mail before anything else, in case it’s another of Jade’s.

It’s an e-mail from Dave. There are pictures attached. You start to worry, but there's really no point in it, at all, in the end. You slap your hand over your mouth before your face betrays you. Dave is an idiot, and he’s your idiot, and you can hardly stand it. "Oh my god," you say into your hand.

"Dave?" John asks.

"You may want to stop asking that in that tone, I’ll start to think you’re jealous," you say, doing your best to be flippant but not as amused as you are. You’re failing.

The first picture is appropriately titled paintmelikeoneofyourfrenchgirls.png, based on the pose. Then there’s toocoolforhomeschool.png, where the sunglasses are very prominent, and illerthancholera.png, which defies description, and he really needs to stop taking pictures of himself because it might literally kill you.

"You’re laughing," John says skeptically.

"I am not," you insist, and clear your throat. Just like that, because of Dave, the tension in the room is diffused, at least for now. You’re going to have to thank him later.

"Are you going to share with the class?" 

"He’d kill me, so no."

"Naked pictures?" he asks wryly.

You fire him a startled, annoyed look. " _No_."

"Wow," John says, "that is either serious denial or the boy stands no chance."

"It’s complicated," you say, maybe a little put off. "Besides, he's busy with his own side of this, the point is moot."

"Even saviors of the world get lunch breaks. Aren’t we supposed to meet them in Seattle, anyway?"

Oh. That. You’d nearly forgotten. "Yes. We’ll try."

He side-eyes you. "You’re avoiding him."

"Remember the whole end of the world thing? I may be too busy to constantly see my colonel in person."

"What, am I not your colonel?" John asks, feigning indignation.

"There are usually multiple colonels." Back to it. This is why you’re not looking forward to John meeting Dave.

It’s about time you check in. You pull up the window, but you get a flurry of pestering before you get the chance.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 5:04 --
> 
> TG: hey uh
> 
> TG: remind me
> 
> TG: whos that old guy again
> 
> TG: the one jade was bffs with
> 
> TG: because yeah
> 
> TG: people need to stop finding me
> 
> TG: its making me look bad
> 
> TG: anyway
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: answer
> 
> TG: jesus

He’s doing the thing again, where he pesters you ten times in a row because you didn’t answer right away, even though you were going to message him first. You’re not sure why you find this whole thing slightly charming.

> TT: Luke.
> 
> TT: His name is Luke.
> 
> TG: ok great
> 
> TT: He’s alive?
> 
> TT: He was at Maryland.
> 
> TG: he says you can talk about that when were all together
> 
> TT: All right.
> 
> TG: so
> 
> TG: were getting the band back together elwood
> 
> TT: Wow.
> 
> TG: shut up
> 
> TT: Heh.
> 
> TT: By the way,
> 
> TT: You’re a regular Annie Leibovitz.
> 
> TG: what
> 
> TG: dont make me google things
> 
> TG: oh yeah those
> 
> TG: knew youd appreciate them
> 
> TT: Masterpieces, certainly. Each of them.
> 
> TG: can you have more than one masterpiece
> 
> TT: I believe it’s a matter of relative definitions. One piece of art can be a masterpiece amongst like pieces made by contemporary artists.
> 
> TT: This could be an interesting discussion.
> 
> TT: I think it’s more important that I say,
> 
> TT: The choice of Titanic reference interested me.
> 
> TT: Do you identify with Kate Winslet?
> 
> TT: Her willful femininity in the face of early twentieth century mores?
> 
> TT: Do you experience strong feelings when you look at Leonardo DiCaprio?
> 
> TG: hey look this strategy session is over
> 
> TT: Don’t leave now. I was just starting to have fun.
> 
> TG: stop picturing me in drag
> 
> TG: bye

You force back your amusement. It’s time to go. You have a mission, and you’re going to achieve it, by any means necessary.

\--

 _November 2003_  
WITSEC is annoying in that it would probably feel rewarding if you didn’t get super paranoid about the safety of every single person and thing under it when you do it.

But this is how it is. Hana and Adya, two former Skaianet engineers, stupidly reapplied for copyrights on proprietary broad-spectrum signal-jamming hardware, on principle or something. Now they have a new last name, Verma, and a house in a Bangladesh suburb. The security system you and Mark built is pretty solid -- the tests all worked, anyway -- so you’re comfortable installing it on the new house. It kicks Imperiacorp ass. They should be fine.

Maybe. Probably. So far the other four people you’ve moved into WITSEC into Jade’s properties seem to be fine. So far. Probably. Very reassuring thoughts.

All you think about as they move their shit in -- besides the thought you always have to force back, that they might inevitably die bloodily by Imperiacorp’s hands -- is something inane as fuck, but whatever. Just, you aren’t sure you could ever change your last name, even if it was something ten letters long like Hana and Adya’s used to be. Or your first name, or any part of your name. You’re Dave Strider. Fuck anything other than that.

While Mark’s installing the system on the house, you get to hear his story again. Mark’s already gleefully added onto the account five times while talking at you and you alone, with conflicting and even more specific and overdramatic information each time; you can only guess what version he’s going to tell Luke.

Mark holds a wire in place and takes the small screwdriver out from between his teeth, only then starting to talk. "Kenya is the perfect country for them to gain hold. We do well, compared to some other African countries. Room enough to build more towers and spread the signal. Few enough people who would look. But we’re skeptical of American presence in our lives. One of us would look one day. It happened to be me."

"You’re high school age," Luke says, watching the street and thumbing the hilt of one of his swords. "You figured this out this young?"

Mark grins, and you have to say, "Hey, eyes on the tech, bro."

"He’s jealous," Mark says to Luke.

"I think he doesn’t want to waste time," Luke says, "and technically he’s our leader right now, but I’m inclined to agree anyway."

"Technically?" you say dryly, but it really does feel weird to think about. You suppose if Rose is the general you’re the colonel or something, or you’re co-generals, but she has a way better idea of what the fuck is going on than you have, at least so far. There should maybe be a general whose motive is not _my sea-bitch mom is an asshole_ , in your opinion, but. "Anyway, I knew something was up. I just didn’t decide to climb a radio tower like an idiot."

"You didn’t let me tell that part!" Mark protests.

"Oops," you say in a deadpan. "Well, he climbed a radio tower."

"Not from the outside. Well, not from the outside right away," Mark amends. "I was thirteen back then, it seemed like a good idea. It gave me the part to broadcast my own signal at home, anyway."

"Yeah, I know," you say to Luke, who’s looking at Mark with great scrutiny. "But he’s legit." It’s a little grudging. You can’t help it.

"I’m a genius," Mark says casually. "I was in my last year of secondary when they came after me."

"Wow, senior prom would have sucked for you," you say.

"What would you know, Homeschool?" he returns.

Okay, you’re actually starting to like the little prick, despite yourself. He can hold his own. "Not much," you say, "but I’ve at least hit puberty."

Luke clears his throat. "Can we not?" When you’ve nodded, he glances up at you. "You knew Jade," he says.

You balk at that. "Not well. Talked to her a few times. Cryptic lady."

"She talked about you," Luke says, a little surprised, but only mildly. "She must have seen you, then."

"Never met her," you say. You’re not sure what you would have done. There’s a distinct possibility you might have called your dad and his bros and turned her in if she’d been right there, especially before Rose basically made you unknowingly join her rebellion against the biggest corporation in the world by being irritatingly fascinating at you.

"I don’t mean that." Luke rakes his hand through his thinning hair. "She saw things. She knew me before she ever met me. She didn’t say how she knew those things, not really, I just assumed she was psychic."

"Psychic," Mark says, and snorts.

"She knew things about me she couldn’t have known otherwise. And she saw the future." Luke doesn’t look at either of you. "She didn’t see you, Mark. Don’t know why, but she knew about me, and about Dave. Before Rose even talked to him."

"Jade had Rose talk to me," you say, a little dazed by this. It explains _sunglasses boy_ , but… does that mean Jade knew you worked with your dad? Does that mean she knew _everything_? How much did she know about what would happen after? Did she know she was going to die?

You realize they’re looking at you and you’re just sitting there.

"Maybe psychic," you say grudgingly. "Maybe."

"That’s stupid," Mark says.

"Watch your mouth," Luke says sharply. "Respect the dead. And Jade. She’s the one who started all this, she’s the one we owe all this to."

"Can we see the swords?" Mark asks, in a totally smooth transition. You roll your eyes.

"Not now. Later, maybe." Luke looks at you. "She cared a lot about you and Rose. Wanted me to do everything I could to help you. I think she knew she was going to die."

"She could have told Rose," you say, a little more sarcastically than you mean to. "What with her being horribly traumatized by it instead."

"Rose would have tried to prevent it. And she couldn’t." He’s still looking at you. "She said you two were so, so important. I’m starting to believe it."

Every time things gets like this, you think you might puke. Not out of disbelief, but because part of you is _sure it’s true_ , even if it’s incredibly stupid. "Uh," you say, "well, we’re people. Saving the world. Or trying. So that’s pretty important."

Luke cracks a smile. "Sure," he says. "That’s what she meant."

"So which one of you is Princess Leia?" Mark asks, neck deep in the system already.

"Neither. I’m Han," you say. "Also, shut the fuck up."

"Ooh, language, Strider. I’m only fifteen." Mark pauses. "Does that mean _she’s_ Leia?" He laughs obnoxiously at the expression that crosses your face, and you flat-out glare.

Luke sighs heavily. "Probably worth mentioning, boss," he says, "I know where we’re going next."

You are never going to be used to a forty year old guy calling you "boss." You raise your eyebrows. "Yeah," you say. "Where?"

"Sacramento," he says. "Something there I didn’t anticipate."

Oh, fuck. "What?"

"Are we going to the States?" Mark perks up.

"Don’t get too excited, it’s just Sacramento," you say. "Luke, what?"

Luke looks contrite. "I took someone who liked getting in our kind of trouble and dropped him a hint to our kind of problem. I didn’t think he’d try to get it onto the local news, because for God’s sake."

"Bailing someone out. Cool," you say, in a weary deadpan. "Yeah, once we’re done here let’s go."

"Where did you get all that money?" Mark bothers asking for the first time in two weeks.

"Uh," you say, "finally. I wondered when someone would ask me why I have a fuckton of money. Who do you _think_ I got it from?"

Mark turns to you, away from the tech, eyes wide. "Are you _serious_?" he demands, astounded.

Oh, you like that. "Yeah," you say, casually. "When we took down Maryland -- Luke was there -- I raided the account. Easy."

"I’ve been trying to do that for a year," Mark says, stuck between glowering and admiration. "How -- "

"Once you hack their security it’s pretty much a piece of cake," you say. "Delicious, EZ-Bake Oven cake that’s made of cash and five keystrokes. They barely upgrade it. I swear they want me to be able to get in there. That bitch would play that kind of game, though."

Mark’s eyebrows meet. "That… wait, do you actually believe there’s a Betty Crocker?"

"I saw her battlecruiser," Luke says. "Yeah, she’s real."

"I saw _her_ ," you say. "The batterwitch? No urban legend, no joke. Huge bitch, like I said."

"And… you, uh -- " Mark is still wrapping his head around this, apparently missing the whole battlecruiser thing in the fuckery of this revelation. "You… what, fought her? Ran?"

"She -- " You don’t like thinking about it. You don’t like thinking about how Rose might have died, how you both might have been poked full of holes through vital organs or worse. "Yeah. We fought her." You don’t want to talk about it. "Finish up. Who are these idiots in Sacramento, anyway?"

"Luis Angeles," Luke says, a little wearily. "He runs his own newspaper, he does great social commentary, don’t get me wrong, he sees further than most people are willing to -- _anyway_ , I tipped him off on the signal, because for some reason I thought the guy would be able to manage subtle. I was wrong. The blog he runs with his daughter says he’s ready to publish something big and spread it far. We should go soon."

"Sounds more like ‘now’ is a better idea than ‘soon’." Damn, you _do_ sound like a general or some shit. "I’m going to buy the tickets, Luke, see if anyone else is willing to come. Mark, fucking finish that shit, no more rubbernecking."

"Why don’t you finish it?"

"Because someone has to buy the tickets and I’m not giving you access to this much money," you say.

He swears under his breath in a language you can’t understand, and you sigh and open your laptop.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 9:04 --
> 
> TG: on our way to the us
> 
> TG: luke has a tip
> 
> TG: or gave a tip
> 
> TG: something
> 
> TG: point is were going to sacramento
> 
> TG: dont know if we can meet you there
> 
> TG: wherever you are
> 
> TG: let me know
> 
> TT: I can try.
> 
> TT: It would be good to see you.

You say nothing out loud. Or to her. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

> TG: were flying into lax
> 
> TG: probably uh not gonna be there til late tomorrow
> 
> TT: I’ll do what I can.
> 
> TT: Take care of yourselves.
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> TG: wait
> 
> TG: how are you
> 
> TG: good job almost dodged that
> 
> TT: I’m fine.
> 
> TG: and
> 
> TT: And good.
> 
> TG: really specific
> 
> TT: Sorry. We’re busy.
> 
> TG: you and john
> 
> TT: Yes.
> 
> TG: best bros
> 
> TT: What?
> 
> TG: whatever
> 
> TG: busy with what
> 
> TT: I should go.
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TT: Dave.
> 
> TG: fine
> 
> TG: whatever
> 
> TT: I’ll try to see you, Dave.
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 9:08 --

Yeah, you’re a little pissed, but not completely, so for kicks you purposely buy Mark a seat on the aisle. Time to ride in first class. Hearing stewardesses call you "Mr. Strider" all seriously is kind of the best part of this whole clusterfuck so far.

File that with so many other things Rose is never, ever going to hear a god damn word of.

\-- 

You've never seen Jade's island. It's not on any maps, and, though it may be seen by satellites, cartographers seem convinced it's just a spot in the ocean with a major reef and volcano and nothing resembling a place where human habitation could occur. It is entirely possible and likely inevitable that this had to do with an investment of a lot of money and a global conspiracy by the good guys.

At any rate, you know where it is, _that_ it is, and that the fauna is slightly more worrying than anywhere else, but probably _as_ worrying as Australia's.

John doesn't seem to find any of this information reassuring as you brief him from the spot next to him in the motorboat. He makes this very clear. "So if this island exists -- "

"It exists."

"Fine, it exists and it's terrifying. Why did she live there?"

"Why does anyone live anywhere? Some mix of 'I have to' and 'I like it." You prod him in the shoulder, and he sends you an exaggerated wounded look. "Don't be afraid, slugger."

"I could have been in the pros by now, you know," he grouses.

"Look at it this way; you still have an epic specibus." You don't want him to think too long on the past. "So we're going in with a plan. She didn't include a map, just coordinates, but I think in a jungle we're probably better off with coordinates anyway. We'll have to be vigilant. You watch for danger, I'll watch the coordinates. We should get to it the second we hit land. She said there'll probably be people ransacking the place now and then. Since she's dead they can look whenever they want."

You omit that the "people" include Dave's dad. It's complicated.

"What happens if we run into them?" John asks pointedly.

"Nothing good, so we should try not to," you answer delicately.

"Are we talking worse or equal to Imperiacorp?"

You consider that. "Likely worse."

He sighs. "All right, General." He looks at the island in the distance. "Getting closer."

You look up as well. The volcano is looming, and the jungle seems to grow up towards it. You have the distinct feeling this jungle is going to be a problem. "That is not an insubstantial amount of volcano," you note.

"Or you could say, 'holy shit, that's a big volcano,' but whatever works for you," John says.

There's a sound overhead, one you haven't heard in months, and panic rises in your chest and your throat. You look up, back, and there it is, a cruiser with the Crockercorp logo -- not hers, there's no way she'd go anywhere in anything that small -- flying towards the island. "Oh, shit," you say softly.

John touches your arm. "So," he says, attempting a casual tone and failing.

Being reasonable is the only option. "So we hit the shore and run, or we risk a fight."

"Are we _sure_ they're worse?" John checks.

"They're her special agents. They -- " Well, you can't say that. He's not ready to hear about dream-planets. "They control things, where she comes from." Close enough. "At least, from what I've heard. I haven't met them or anything."

John is looking at you with suspicion. You flash an innocent smile, which in its very nature is insincere. He rolls his eyes. "We're probably ten minutes away. Strategy if we run into them?"

"I lead, you take them out in the aftermath." Best case scenario. "Or we run."

"Or we run." He sighs again. "All right."

The ten minutes to the island seem to take forever. You twirl the THORNS and touch on the power, breathing through it when it touches you back. You ignore what you know about it. What the time you've had to hone it means for you. You push it down.

The Crockercorp cruiser's already landed. You don't think you can outpace them, and they probably saw you, though there's a chance they haven't. Hiding in case is still the best option.

You grab John's hand and haul him forward. There's no time. "We get to the coordinates and we go."

He follows. "What if that's where they're going?"

"Then we deal with that." Obviously. "But I think Jade is smarter than that. It won't be easy or obvious, where we're going. She wouldn't have pointed us to something they would find easily." You duck into the brush. It's not comfortable, but it obscures you from sight.

"If she pointed it out to us this late, she had to have known -- "

"She knew," you say simply.

John's grip is tight on your hand, then. You don't think about it. Handholding can't have subtext.

You don't speak as you move through the jungle, chopping brush out of the way with the THORNS as you go. The coordinates aren't too much further. John shifts away from you in a strange bit of body language, an instant before there's an explosion at least a mile away.

"Shit," he swears under his breath.

"If we move quickly," you start.

"We'll have to." He grabs your phone and shifts it in the right direction. "We run."

You haven't been this afraid in months. You squeeze his hand, keep your expression clear of fear, and you both run. He grips the phone and you cut through brush. There's fire crackling in the distance.

 _Why did they blow something up?_ You don't know and you don't care.

A root rips John off of his feet and he hits the ground with a horrible sound; it wrenches your arm and you drop to the ground next to him. "John," you shout in spite of yourself, and try to pull him up. "John -- "

"I saw them," he wheezes. "As I fell." He coughs. "Oh, Christ."

You stay low. "We may not..." What are you thinking? What can you do? What's the plan, General? "Stay down."

"They know we're here. They have to." John shifts. He's just _looking_ at you. You hate the responsibility in that instant, and hate the weakness. You have to. You have to push through it. _You have to do this_.

You can hear them, now, really well if you're not talking or hyperventilating.

"Can't see 'em, boss."

"They're here."

"Think it's the English kid?"

"On that boat? Don't think he's going anywhere. The old lady had to know we would hunt him down if we got the fucking chance. No, this is one of those fucking kids."

"You mean Strider?"

John's gaze snaps to you, and you don't look at him.

Boss's tone changes at the name, too. "Strider's in Europe. Has to be _her_."

You can't handle how taunt your nerves are. You feel the grimdark course through your body, along your skin, and John inhales sharply, his hand convulsing against yours as your arms are immolated in majjyk. You instantly drop his hand, holding out against fear as best you can.

"You think they're here?"

"We saw the boat. Dignitary heard 'em. I think there's a good fucking chance we can get 'em if we try. Hey, Brute."

"Yeah?"

"You got a bigger voice. Do me a favor and call the girl out."

The guy clears his throat. "HEY, KID. COME OUT AND YOU GET FIRST SHOT."

You barely look up, then you see the boss striding ahead, and you very nearly make a sound, slapping your hand over your mouth before anything can escape. _Shit._ You don't know for sure, but you know. _You know._ No harlequin costume, no glasses, no dog-face, but that has to be him. You can feel it.

"GONNA HUNT YOU OTHERWISE."

"Wouldn't be much of a hunt."

"Don't count 'em out," Jack says. "Condesce says she put up a fight."

"They might have run anyway."

John dares to look up, too, and he panics completely. "What the _fuck_ is that?" he whispers.

"Told you they were from her... place of origin." Close enough, again, especially for now. "Don't panic."

" _Don't panic_?"

"Counting to five," Jack shouts.

"Jesus," John hisses out. " _Don't panic_ , what the fuck -- "

"Calm down!" you snap; his sharp fingernails are digging into your hand again.

"THREE," Jack calls.

"Boss, you said five," the brute says.

"Changed my mind. Two -- "

You act on instinct. The THORNS lash out, the power bolts through you, and the earth shatters underneath all of you.

You don't look at the chess guys. It's not even about them and whatever they're doing, now, it's about _running_. John's rushed to his feet and you grab the phone, then his arm, and haul him towards where the coordinates are meant to lead you.

_don't worry rose, you'll be safe. :) you're going to need a few things and i put them all together for you! be brave._

You reach a cave, and neither of you hesitate to go inside. You flick on the HUBTOPBAND, slowing just slightly, and John glances back at you, harried. It gives you some light, just enough, and now all you can do is trust the cave. Jade wouldn't lead you wrong.

"Left," you say.

"Rose -- "

"We go left."

You've slowed down so you can catch your breath, but you keep up a good pace, and the power is starting to ebb away again, which is incredibly good news. You don't want to talk to John, and John doesn't seem to want to talk right now, which is also good news.

A few minutes into rushing through the cave and pointedly not thinking about whether Jack and the others will find you, you see it.

"Oh my god," you breathe.

John looks around, bewildered. "What?"

There's a transportalizer. You know about them, and you know Jade knows you know about them. You think you know what to do. It's your best option, and Jade wouldn't have put this there for no reason.

"Let’s go," you say, and immediately jump onto it.

"Rose, wait, what, no," John says in a rush, but you set it off.

The room you’re in is… clearly in a house, and you can see the jungle far off out of the window. You’re in Jade’s house. Oh, god. You hope John doesn’t follow you, but then he appears behind you and you can't help but facepalm.

"Did you want me to leave you behind?" he snaps. He may be slightly hysterical. You don't have the time for that.

"A little." You sweep the barely-populated room, not looking at him, just then noticing you're sweating and covered in jungle debris. Then you notice a box wrapped in twine and bearing a green smiley face, and rush forward to grab it.

"She left you a present," John says slowly.

"That's kind of all she's been doing this time, if you think about it." You tear it open like children probably tear open Christmas presents (you wouldn't know) and once the box is open you're smiling in spite of yourself. Your throat doesn't ache, your eyes don't prick with tears, you're just happy, that's it.

John peers over your shoulder. "Sylladex cards."

"She's stocking our armory. And -- " You're rifling through the cards. "Is that -- that is an alchemiter." _It's an alchemiter._ There's one on the next card, too, then a few pairs of FENESTRATED WINDOWS. You're practically dizzy. This changes everything. It's going to cost a lot of grist, though. That's going to mean a lot of dead drones.

"There's something in the bottom of the box." John reaches past you, and pulls out glass vials.

You recognize the colors crammed into it, and John does after a moment, too. "She always thinks of everything." You stifle a grin. The other cards aren't as useful, but almost nothing could be. You look up at John, then, considering him. "John."

"General," he answers.

"We're going to have to be quiet. We're staying here for the night."

"But if we found the -- transporter thing -- can't they?" he prompts you.

"That's if they find the cave and realize that's where we're going, and take the right corridors. Either way. We'll figure it out." You take a seat in the comfortable chair, which seems out of place in such a clearly uninhabited room, but you're not complaining. "I'm going to sleep."

"Is that -- "

"This house is huge, and if we're quiet Jake won't notice us. And I need sleep."

"General," John says firmly, "I'm not going to risk you getting hurt by those aliens."

You are not moved by this at all. No, you are definitely not. "Then we switch shifts. You can sleep first."

"You just said -- "

"Just lay down." You point at the couch, and sit up in your chair. "I can keep busy."

He exhales, then lays down on the couch, sending you a warning look. "I can stay awake," he starts.

"Take your orders, Colonel Rosslyn."

He mocks a salute, and lies back, his eyes falling closed.

You open Pesterchum and project out your keyboard.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 1:04 --
> 
> TT: I’ve solved some of our problems in a general sense.
> 
> TT: We’ll need to meet, soon.
> 
> TT: Our birthdays?
> 
> TT: We could even have a party.
> 
> TG: uh
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> TG: sorry things are intense here
> 
> TG: got it handled though
> 
> TG: totally
> 
> TT: I believe you.
> 
> TT: Mostly.
> 
> TG: thanks for the vote of confidence
> 
> TT: Next time don’t undercut yourself. I believe in your ability to not fuck things up.
> 
> TG: wow
> 
> TG: thats
> 
> TG: something

It occurs to you that you can't ever tell Dave that his dad could have and would have killed you. You don’t know what that would do to his head. He’s already got cognitive dissonance from everything else. 

If nothing else, you need him sane for the war effort.

About time to tell him about the alchemiter, though. It's good news, and you can actually make it sound that way now that there isn't just one in a place you probably can't return to, at least for a long time.

> TT: This isn’t really the point.
> 
> TT: We’ve got weapons and transportation handled now. I think we’re good.
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TT: What?
> 
> TG: nope nothing
> 
> TT: All right.
> 
> TG: bye
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 1:08 --

You exhale, realizing you forgot something pretty major.

 _Is everything all right?_ How hard would that be to ask?

You wish you had, but you don’t think you can go back to him now.

It takes everything within you not to sleep. You look through the few documents you have, and begin listening to the recordings of the people you've sent into WITSEC, as close as you get to praying to the Old Ones that you get ideas, that you know what to do next without another of Jade's e-mails.

One of these days, you're going to have to do this on your own, and that day is probably soon.

\--

You have decided once and for all that if the world fails to end you're never volunteering for anything. There are enough people who want to hug puppies and make phone calls and try to spread the word of Jesus or a politician. You’re already tired of this shit and you’ve only been doing it three months. This is obviously not the career for you.

Point is. Figuring out what to do while sitting outside the guy’s newspaper building, because he’s a paranoid hippie-type and apparently a delicate approach is needed, has turned out to be really annoying considering this could all blow up right about now.

Thing you learned right away in trying to recruit people to help end the march towards the apocalypse: no one moves fast enough in the Fuck You Betty Crocker business, because no one takes it seriously enough. That’s why you like Luke. And Rose. And almost, almost, Mark.

Sure, unrelenting fear of her might be a good reason to freeze up. But you're finding that to be a less and less reasonable way to deal with this in the long term. Terror, yes, because you’re not a moron. Freezing up, no.

"So we may or may not actually find the guy here," you say to Luke. "Because blah blah the electric grid kicked my dog and the renewing power of celery. I mean we're talking about people as paranoid as us because of fluoride in the water and cable satellite dishes."

"Mock it all you want, Dave," Mark says, "but the hippies were right."

"By accident. They believed this crap before too." You aren't even sure what you mean and you're the one saying it, so you studiously don't make note of their expressions and focus on the door. "Let's go."

"General has a point," Mark says to Luke. "The message we sent is just going to look like a trap to people like this. We should let Dave talk to them."

"You just called me a general then said you'd let me do something. Get your shit straight." You open the car door. "Luke, with me. Mark, stay with the car."

"Why -- "

"Keep an eye on the security feed in case Imperiacorp decides to interrupt," Luke explains, and follows you to the building. "Dave," he starts.

"I got this." You knock, then check the doorknob. It twists, so you go in.

You spent enough time around guns to know the sound of one cocking, so your sword is out and Luke's hilts are crackling with energy already. When you see the guns, then the person holding them, you pause.

The pretty blonde Hispanic girl dual-wielding pistols looks at you deliberately and shifts one of the two guns pointed at you to aim at Luke. "I'd apologize but we're closed and no one visits us anyway, so I'm going to assume this is the attempt on our lives we keep hearing about. Pick your next words carefully."

"Hey, this wasn't supposed to be a Tarantino set," you say at the same time as Luke says, "So you're Ruby?"

"Jesus, Rue," a guy calls from the next room, a little anxious, "did you just draw on total strangers?"

"They came in without an invitation, Daddy," she says, mock-sweetly, and takes a long look at you. "You’re a smartass."

"So I’m told," you say. You really need her to stop looking at you like that. "Uh. You’re Ruby Angeles?"

"I’d totally take subpoenas if pretty boys like you delivered them," she says, "but they don’t anyway, so yeah I’m Ruby, hi. You’re not trying to kill us, are you?"

Luke clears his throat. "Luis? My name’s Luke Kalama, I’m the anonymous tip on the signal you’ve been chasing."

You take your eyes off of her, maybe a little unwillingly, and see her dad standing back there, and find that a good reason to keep your eyes to yourself. "I see," he says to Luke, then he looks at you with less suspicion than fear, and you snap out of it. "You’re… very young," he says, faltering. "For those people we’ve heard about, I mean."

"Oh, you think this is _them_?" Ruby shifts in her chair to examine Luke, then you again.

"I keep forgetting we want people to spread the word," you say to Luke, avoiding her gaze easily enough, then look to Luis. "Yeah, uh. We’re them, if by them you mean ‘people being obnoxious as shit trying to save the world,’ yeah, that’s us."

Luis shakes his head. "All right. Well, what do you need from us?"

"You can’t go public with this," you say, before Luke can say a word, and you’re not completely sure why. Obviously he can’t go public but why are _you_ saying it? Luis is looking at you like he’s going to say something, and you shake your head and approach him. "You really don’t seem to get this, like, this is not some corporate bullshit conspiracy, this is an international clusterfuck of cosmic proportions and the first word you say about that signal in the public arena is going to bring down a really simple shitstorm on your head called ‘hopefully quick death’ and if you think I’m joking about that then you’re not paying attention and Luke was full of shit, sorry Luke."

"No, you’re not wrong," Luke says calmly.

"Why not," Luis says, eyes trained closely on you. He still seems more scared than anything. "People need to know. If we risk backlash -- "

"Jesus," you say, "are you serious. You know why you haven’t heard about this yet? Because everyone else who tried to say something got horribly murdered. So research it, fine, get data or whatever the fuck, but I’ve seen what happens to protests and rallies and shit, Luis, mass graves and body parts, I’m not making this up. Things are so much worse than you think."

"Oh," Ruby says from behind you, "yeah, that’s definitely you."

Luis sighs heavily. "You’re. I’m not… are you really saying what I think you’re saying, and, I didn’t catch your name -- "

"Dave Strider," you say, "and I’m saying ‘batterwitch,’ guys, so don’t publish your shit. You want in, we’ll cut you in, when the time’s right you can publish it all, once we can keep you safe -- "

"That’s the thing," Ruby says smoothly, crossing to you. "We have published it."

"Where?" Luke says rapidly, before you can start swearing at them.

"The blog," Ruby says, crossing her arms. "They don’t take us seriously. Gotta put it somewhere."

"Rue," Luis snaps. "We couldn’t have sold that as a new -- "

"Please, doesn’t count, also we couldn’t sell it anyway, Daddy, you know that. Bigger problems, anyway. What do we do?" she asks you.

Oh. Uh. Problem-solving, you can do that. You look down at her, just barely. "Run," you say. "Probably. What did you do exactly?"

"I graphed the data." Ruby pushes your shades up the bridge of your nose in an almost affectionate gesture, and you don’t do anything out of pure surprise. "Published that. Didn’t really push the story as such. I can pull it down but someone’s gonna have saved it and if the worldwide conspiracy is as cosmic as you say, _Strider_ , they already saw and are about to rain shit down on us, yeah?"

"You need to run this stuff past me," Luis says severely.

"I had to float it. Daddy, stop," she pleads, doing the sign of the cross and pressing her hands together, and he sighs in clear irritation.

"We have to get you out of here," Luke interrupts. "Get your things, we’ll cross state lines tonight."

"But." Luis tries to take a breath and think about this. "Ruby, when did you post that?"

"Last night," she says, and rolls her eyes. "Surprised there wasn’t a pipebomb this morning if we’ve got Betty to be scared of."

"If you’re not scared of the evil murderous corporation that runs the planet then I’m not sure I can help you," is what you say before you get a chance to really formulate anything to say. You glance at Ruby, casually; she’s staring at you. "I saw her face to face. It wasn’t fucking funny."

Ruby shakes off her surprise, and raises her eyebrows. "Is it true -- "

Luis’s voice raises as he gestures frantically at Luke, who’s been talking quietly to him. "But I can’t leave everything -- this is fifteen years of work, Mr. Kalama -- "

The door bursts open and Ruby’s fired a warning shot above the doorway before you or Luke get a chance to move. "AGH," Mark exclaims, and practically falls into the doorframe. "What did I -- "

"One of yours?" Ruby asks you, offhandedly.

"Mark, come in, shut the door," you call out, making a point to not look impressed, or at least not that impressed.

"Dave," he calls back, out of breath, "security, six blocks out -- "

Ruby shrugs at that. "We’re safe. I have everything wired -- well, I opened it up because I was here and so’s my dad, so whoever tries to get through either door is pretty well fucked -- "

"He doesn’t mean your security, he means Imperiacorp, BCCorp’s security, we need to go now. Luke, Mark, grab the car, you two start clearing out your sylladexes and get ready to pack your shit away now," you say to the Angeleses, "and, why the fuck are you not moving?"

 _They’re not moving_. Luis is doing something that is probably "standing his ground" and it’s such an incredibly stupid thing to do _right now_. "I’m not leaving," he says firmly. "I’ve done nothing wrong."

"Daddy, don’t be stupid," Ruby says, flippant. "Let’s go back to the house then go lay low in LA."

Hahaha, what, no. "No," you say firmly. "Not LA. We’re going further than that."

"What?"

"Well, we can relocate you if you want, I mean," you say, and realize you’re in over your head. "Uh, um, no, we need to go, if your house is close enough we can get there, get your shit, and go somewhere, we can figure that out later, because -- for fuck’s sake, where are you going?" you shout after Luis, who’s just taken off.

You throw your hands up to no one in particular in total indignation, and Luis runs out, sweating, looking to Ruby, who's just finished captchaloguing two laptops. "I found it," he tells her.

She softens. "Oh, oh, thanks, Dad -- "

"Yeah yeah I’d rather you not die because I let you have a moment," you rattle off, and grab Luis’s arm. "Luke and Mark are out back, you two go ahead, I’ll deal with the fuckers out front."

"Ah, ah, no, fuck that," Ruby insists, and parks her ass on the desk. "I am not abandoning our HQ so you can fight our battle for us."

"Oh my god, shut up," you fire back, and she shoves your arm and grabs her dad by the shoulder. She whispers something, he glances at you, and he goes. "You’re not staying," you inform her as she settles back.

"No," she agrees. "I’m not. But I promised him I’d punch you if you disrespected me again, because otherwise he’d do it first." She sits up. "You really good on your own, bro?"

She just called you _bro_. "I’ll manage," you say, dryly, and she nods, hopping off of the desk. She flashes you a smile, then saunters off all casually, and you wish you could say you weren’t looking as she goes. She re-holsters her guns and pulls her jacket down around them, and you snap out of it as the door shuts after her.

Pesterchum chimes.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 1:04 --
> 
> TT: I’ve solved some of our problems in a general sense.
> 
> TT: We’ll need to meet, soon.
> 
> TT: Our birthdays?
> 
> TT: We could even have a party.

This is a thing that’s happening. Rose is trying to be helpful, _right now_.

> TG: uh
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> TG: sorry things are intense here
> 
> TG: got it handled though
> 
> TG: totally
> 
> TT: I believe you.
> 
> TT: Mostly.
> 
> TG: thanks for the vote of confidence
> 
> TT: Next time don’t undercut yourself. I believe in your ability to not fuck things up.

You’re getting the impression Rose’s day has been way easier than yours.

> TG: wow
> 
> TG: thats
> 
> TG: something
> 
> TT: This isn’t really the point.
> 
> TT: We’ve got weapons and transportation handled now. I think we’re good.

You can hear the truck approaching, slowly.

> TG: rose
> 
> TT: What?
> 
> TG: nope nothing
> 
> TT: All right.
> 
> TG: bye
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 1:08 --

You’re an idiot.

You lean by the window, tilt your shades down, and watch the truck roll by.

They don’t stop. Somehow you don’t think it’s because they’ve changed their minds about offing the Angeleses.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- parisBound [PB] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 1:10 --
> 
> PB: 1015 Las Palmas Ave
> 
> TG: yeah about that
> 
> TG: theyre on their way to you
> 
> TG: didnt think this through to be honest
> 
> TG: im stealing a car
> 
> TG: ill take some crazyass shortcuts like fucking stallone
> 
> TG: ill return the car obviously
> 
> TG: thats legit right
> 
> PB: Make sure to steal it from a subsidiary
> 
> TG: great idea

You run. You thank whatever that BCCorp people are dumb enough to have cars with the best possible GPS. You go as fast as you goddamn can without running people over. 

As annoying as the Angeleses are so far, this has to be important.

(That’s the really annoying thing. It’s all important.)

\--

You’ve been working on a cool trick.

It’s a great distraction from the main thing on your mind, which is that Dave hasn’t been talking much recently and you have no idea what to think about that.

Before, this wasn’t so important. Before, you weren’t worried about his life, because he wasn’t really involved. Now you’ve pinned him with a life or death job that he probably feels obligated to do because you cried in front of him, which is stupid and not what you wanted at all, and this would have been so much easier as a suicide mission.

About the trick, though.

"So let me get this straight," John says slowly, watching the darkness curl up from your fingertips. "You officially don’t need the THORNS anymore?"

"I channel through them. But no, I don’t need to be wielding them specifically." This isn’t strife. It’s stupid to use the specibus for undramatic non-strife reasons. "This is why we haven’t been detected."

"Why the cameras die. It might actually be magic," John concedes, shrugs, and drums his hands on the steering wheel. "Are we ready?"

You send him an amused but weary look, lower your HUBTOPBAND, and nod to him. He steps out of the car, you carefully open the door with your un-grimdark hand, and he locks up while you head towards the building. The darkness permeates your hand completely as you concentrate, obscuring it from vision for a moment, then your other hand lights up and vanishes without much effort at all.

"Easy," you say out loud, like this isn’t a sign of something worse to come, because of course it isn’t. You approach the back door, look into the camera, gaze measured, for a long moment. John comes to stand next to you, then promptly flips the camera off with both middle fingers.

"Really?" you ask, though not particularly bothered.

"Well, it’s one way to figure out if they can see us," John reasons.

You assess the camera through the HUBTOPBAND’s lens and shake your head. It’s not recording, you can tell that much, and it may just be a dead prop now -- the last three times you’ve tried this, it’s proved that much. You’re good.

The John Crocker Memorial Library is an institution in Seattle. You try not to spend too much time there, because it’s a very… Crocker-y place, and that makes you understandably nervous. Still, it’s the most logical place for the batterwitch to keep her records; considering the security on the place, she apparently thinks so too.

The man was a comedian, not a president. There’s no state secrets in there. There may, however, be sea-alien secrets. And that’s why you’re here.

John starts fucking with the keypad, then reaches for his lockpicks before he realizes how stupid that is, and you watch with some amusement before he finally looks back at you with a pained expression. He _really_ doesn’t want to concede that you have to do this. "I’ve been working on it," he says, defensively, "it’s not my fault that she’s invested at least a million dollars into ‘fuck you, rebellion’ technology."

You flick the lock over with your majjyks, and turn the handle. "No one said it was your fault. We’ll need the lockpicks later."

"But -- "

"Shh."

The two of you head inside, all nonchalantly, and there’s no one to be seen. The cameras are all dead. You wonder if anyone’s noticed. Someone has to be here. There has to be security. You’re not going to get away with this scot-free, and if you do there’s likely a more sinister reason for that and you may want to think twice about what you do with the result.

"We have to find the guard station first," you say.

"What if we… just… don’t, this time?" John suggests.

"Yes." You pause, surprised that John suggested this, of all people. You have to encourage this. "Let's try it. This seems to be working."

He glances at your hand, and you smile, ignoring the part where your arm both tingles pleasantly and feels like it’s on fire. He shrugs, and follows you down the hallway.

"There’s a hidden floor. We’d need a key. We _could_ get that off of the guard, or your lockpick could come in handy there. Unfortunately I doubt that my powers extend to a lock so delicate as this, or they would need to be refined before I’d risk it." You don’t remember anyone ever talking this much in heist movies, but then those conversations likely get cut for time and coolness’s sake. "I know she has something down there. What, exactly, I’m not sure. No matter what it is, _we_ need it."

"What if it’s… a card catalogue or something?" He makes a face at the expression you send at him. "I was only partially joking. We don’t know what’s down there at all?"

"Massive security," you say, "and her heir’s name on the place. I think she’s stupid enough to put serious things down there, actually. Don’t you?"

"I don’t know that I’d ever call her stupid," John starts.

"Power doesn’t mean intelligence, and victory doesn’t mean competence," you say, walking quickly down a dark hallway lit dimly by your HUBTOPBAND. "She’s been at this for a century or more. She’s got a lifespan advantage on us, if nothing else."

"So… you really think she’s immortal?" he asks, uncertainly.

"I think it explains enough that it’s a worthy hypothesis. But one I’m willing to test." You arrive at the elevator, and hit the down button. John’s looking with some concern at the cameras. "I guarantee you if they saw us we’d know it within a matter of seconds."

"I’ve been here most of your time raiding BCCorp too, Rose," he says, maybe a little snappish. "But if you’re right, this could be so much worse than usual."

"Yes," you say mildly. "And I’ve got it handled."

He looks at you in disbelief, and the elevator pings upon arrival, the door sliding neatly open. You step inside, and he follows, pulling out his lockpicks. "Right, that thing there?" he asks, as though you didn’t just have that very mild confrontation.

"Yes," you confirm, and rest back against the elevator door. "From what I’m told."

"Who told you?"

Your mouth quirks up into a half-smile. "Jade."

"Another e-mail?" John raises his eyebrows. "She could have told you this when she was alive."

"We were risking a lot talking as often as we were, and as openly. This place is named after her brother; she had to have wanted to know what the witch stored here. So either she did or she had an idea or she wanted us to find out. Either way." You watch him work. "Can I help?"

"One sec," he says in half a grunt, and something audibly clicks in the lock. The elevator door closes, and he grins -- you grin, you love his stupid grin, whatever.

"Nice," you say, getting your face under control.

"I do what I can for my cause," he demurs, and you smirk.

"‘General,’" you say. "'I do what I can for my cause, _General_.'"

"Ha," he says, and looks at your hands again. "Does it hurt you?" he asks.

You don’t answer. The elevator continues lowering, drops to LL2, then the screen goes blank and it lands. You raise your eyebrows at him, then draw your THORNS and go ahead of him.

It’s dark. Instinctively you move your hand and the lights flicker on; it startles you, too, and John backs up behind you. "Shit," he says.

"They can’t see us," you remind him.

"They can see the lights -- "

"Well," you say, "we weren’t going to be able to read anything in the dark anyway." Poor reasoning, but you can fight off whatever contingent of Imperiacorp guards are here, you’ve proven that. "Come on."

They’re stacks. You haven’t spent as much time in libraries as you would like to have -- the library at the compound being the one difference, but that’s a home library and likely not at all an example of a human library at all anyway. You know what stacks are, or at least what they are theoretically, and these are stacks.

These aren’t all books, though, not as such. Most are book-bound, some bound periodicals, others file folders full of paper. You’d be down here for days if you looked at everything, and maybe you should just camp out. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to know what they know.

"We’re really going to have to narrow down what the hell we’re looking at," John says, and moves ahead of you. "Hey, filing cabinets."

 _Filing cabinets_ is putting it lightly. There’s rows of them. "Right," you say, taking a deep breath, "we’re going to figure out their system and go through what they’ve got."

"I did not sign up for archiving duty," John says, more serious than dry.

"I know," you say, and pat his arm. "But your leader commands you."

It’s a process, but eventually you get the idea of how this place is set up. There’s things about the history of BCCorp, largely redacted files on those who went against BCCorp, government attempts at intervention with BCCorp and its policies, experiments and research they've funded, all of it. You scan all of this that you can find with the HUBTOPBAND, because reading it all right now is not plausible.

You enjoy this more than you should, maybe. John certainly seems to think so, and just hands things off to you to ascertain their usefulness. It occurs to you, again, that Dave is probably in serious danger while you’re filtering through all of this in the quiet.

"Can we put on Pandora or something?" John asks. "The silence is killing me."

"Shh," you say, half to troll him, and turn on Pesterchum, projecting your keyboard.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 5:12 --
> 
> TT: I don’t know if you’re here.
> 
> TT: I know things have been intense on your end.
> 
> TT: I’m getting there, I promise.
> 
> TT: I had to do a few more things first.
> 
> TT: Jade’s been e-mailing me. Or she did. They’re being sent from her server, they started coming after she died.
> 
> TT: They’re incredibly useful.
> 
> TT: I wanted to have this information before we get to HQ and all of the people you’ve gathered.
> 
> TT: And get information from Luke. I need to know what he’s holding back.
> 
> TT: Try to ask him?
> 
> TT: Otherwise, you seem to be doing well.
> 
> TT: The results are good, anyway.
> 
> TT: How are you?

There’s nothing. Nothing. For minutes, there’s nothing.

> TT: What, no AR? You said weeks ago you were building one.
> 
> TG: rose

You exhale sharply.

> TT: Yes.
> 
> TG: im so tired
> 
> TG: were out
> 
> TG: meet us at hq
> 
> TG: do your shit and meet us
> 
> TG: we need to talk
> 
> TT: Are you okay?
> 
> TG: yeah im cool
> 
> TG: you should get here though
> 
> TT: I will.

Why do you feel so incredibly terrible?

> TT: Dave,
> 
> TT: We’ve got this.
> 
> TT: You did a fantastic job.
> 
> TT: I did pretty well myself.
> 
> TT: We’ll figure out where to go from here, together.
> 
> TT: All right?
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> TG: need a nap
> 
> TG: see you
> 
> TT: Yes.
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 5:20 --

"Laid them out for you," John says, a bit of an edge to his voice. "Whenever you’re ready."

"John," you say, warning.

"We’re on a mission," he says, apparently unable to help himself. "You can’t tell me you’re just talking strategy with him, you’re -- "

" _John_ ," you repeat, sharply.

"You’re _distracted_ ," he says, directly, looking down at you like he can actually tell you what to do. "You said we were going to take her down, and we can’t if we’re getting -- involved in other things."

"Don’t start this." Your tone goes brittle. "You’re misreading things, I don’t appreciate it, and I -- don’t want to say something I’ll regret."

John scoffs at you, and pushes a file at you with his foot. "Go on," he says. "Prove it, then."

"If you have a problem with the way I do my work," you say, "I’ll give you a real life to go about. But this is my chessboard, John, I told you that, so get the hell off of it if you have a problem."

"I’m giving you advice -- " 

"You wouldn’t give this advice if you weren’t jealous." You hardly had a choice. He stares at you, completely bereft, and you’d almost enjoy this if it wasn’t all so horrible. "I’m not wrong and we both know it."

"This isn’t the point," he says heatedly, once he finds his voice.

"No. The point is defeating her. The point is that my closest friend is running around doing incredibly dangerous work towards that goal, so I may want to be in contact with him on and off to see if he’s been murdered, or at least to know that before that bitch sends me an imgur shot of him bleeding out." You’re so pissed off you can hardly stand it, and you feel the heat of the majjyk go down your arms and your back and practically feel it streak down your face, somehow. "John, leave it alone. There’s so much more going on here than you and me or me and him and -- that’s why we’re here. The history will tell us what we’re doing wrong and what we’re doing right and what we can do to go forward. Everything else will just -- give us some context to work with."

"You are such a history major," he grumbles, and turns back to the filing cabinets.

"John," you repeat, some heat still in your voice, but he doesn’t turn. "I’m not mad at you."

"That’s believable," he says. "I just got teen-angsted at, but you’re not mad."

"Don’t talk down to me," you say, trying to get this under control before you burst into black majjyk flames or something. "I’m not mad. I’m not -- " You don’t know what to say. "Just… don’t get jealous."

He looks back at you, surprised, then plays it off cool and turns back to the shelves with the bound materials. "Yeah," he says, "fine."

The power begins to bleed away, almost; it keeps going, and you’re noticing a trend that is not very encouraging. You try to calm down, and, as the heat and the power drops, you notice that in spite of your icy tones, your cheeks are blazing pink and your eyes are wet, and -- _shit, shit._ This isn’t how you want to work. This isn’t how you want to be seen, or how you want to be at all.

"John," you say again, and he doesn’t look around at you. "John -- "

"Rose," he says in lowered tones, "there’s someone here."

You could not be more surprised, probably literally. You crouch, then, rise slowly to go behind John, and you see what he sees, a line of people approaching you. "Not Imperiacorp," you murmur, at watching their movements.

"No way," he agrees. "Non-military. Police?"

"She doesn’t need the police," you say.

"Who says it’s her?"

It’s a good point. Then you see one of them cross through a nearby stack and the back of the jacket he wears: _FBI_.

"Shit," you hiss.

"Relax," John suggests, and he steps out, walks forward, all before you can grab him by the back of the jacket and smack him senseless. "Agents," he says, "what can we do for you?"

The look on the lead agent’s face is priceless, right up until he lifts his gun. "FBI! Put your hands where I can see them!"

Oh, fine. You saunter out, hands up, majjyk still streaking down your arms. "Are you here for us or for her?" you ask, and the agent’s eyes go wide.

"Take ‘em in," he says to the agents behind him, and you take a deep breath to release your majjyk energy. Only then does the agent get anywhere near you, and you casually put your hands behind your back.

You eye John critically, he shoots you a glance, and speaks up. "They were going to find us anyway, and do you really want ‘assaulting an FBI agent’ on your record on top of everything else?"

"I’m a minor," you say. "My record would be wiped clean in about a year anyway."

He doesn’t find that funny, apparently.

"Do you know why they call this ‘frog-marching’?" you ask the agent holding onto you, who studiously ignores you. "Well. I try to help."

John may be right. You could afford to take this slightly more seriously.

\--

 _December 2003_  
You have a revolutionary headquarters now. How cool is that?

For the record, the originally idiotic and terrifying prospect of being leader of a revolt has turned out to prove that you look pretty good as the leader of a revolt. And it sort of fits. It's that or you've just gotten used to it, but it's probably that first thing.

You're rubbing sleep out of your eyes at 5am, pissed off but totally ready to hear from Rose about when she's coming to meet you and the others in NYC. Mark won't shut up in general, but especially about Rose and Ruby, your "harem" or whatever, and you heard Luke warn him that keeping up with that could get his lights punched out, so that's hopefully one less thing to stress you out.

"Jesus," you grumble, wandering out of the master bedroom. Being a general is _hard_ , and you were raised on the road in a pack of lone wolves which is not actually a thing but it should be, anyway, there are too many people, like, you think babies might just spring into existence in a burst of sparkles or some shit because there are _that many fucking people here_ and so far aliens exist and have a worldwide conspiracy so if you're all really sentient Sims in some asshole preteen's computer it might not even surprise you much.

It's not like you've even had a chance to "woohoo!" yet so you don't even know.

(It should be noted you've never fucking played the Sims, because you have better things to do.)

"Hey," Ruby slings at you, quietly enough for the hour but awake enough to scare the shit out of you.

"What the fuck," you declare in a sharp whisper, backing off and running your fingers into your hair and you're totally fried now. "Why are you awake? Why are you _happily_ awake?"

"I don't sleep well when I'm under threat," Ruby says smartly. She looks exhausted, actually. "Are you just going to stand there?"

You tense up instantly, despite yourself. "I was getting my computer," you say, almost defensively, and take it out of your sylladex to plug it in the outlet near the couch, by her. You have to sit next to her. That’s fine.

"Well," she says, as your computer boots, "we’re going to have to talk about it."

"Talk about what?" You don’t have to talk about anything, you can talk about nothing, you can do all kinds of things involving speech, and you’re totally willing to do whatever you can do to revolutionize talking. You’re the fucking Einstein or Stephen Hawking of talking. It’s what you do.

"The thing where you killed the fuck out of that guard and nearly killed the other when you were rescuing us," Ruby says bluntly. "That thing."

"That thing," you echo. "Yeah, that was a thing."

"Dave," she chides you.

"It’s a thing that’s over."

"It was _a week ago_." Great. She’s getting pissed at you. "I’ve seen people get killed, I got pulled from school because people got killed, Strider, it fucks people up. You _actually killed someone_ , that has to be fucking you up."

"This is a revolution. People are going to die." You haven’t even booted your computer yet. You’re too tired for this conversation, your dreams full of too much bullshit. "It won’t be the first time and it won’t be the last."

"Fine. Whatever. Fuck it," Ruby says, clearly not ready to let it go. You really don’t care if she does or doesn’t, as long as she doesn’t bring it up with you. You’re fine not thinking about it. "You got pulled from school because of this revolution thing? Your parents do something? I get that."

"I was homeschooled," you say, your throat catching, because your body’s an asshole.

"You -- " She sees the look cross your face. "Your parents -- "

 _Doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about it._ There's a million ways to say it. Instead you say, "Don't know who my birth parents were. My dad is, uh, I think. I don't know." It's too early. That's why you're not cool right now. "He was part of this. I think. Like Rose. I mean. Part of..." You're rambling. "We're different. We've been involved in this shit forever."

That's the first time you told anyone your suspicions. Maybe you are being way too typical, maybe she broke through your cool, and you hate that a little bit. But you have to push through until the cool comes back. "So yeah, I mean, something like that I guess," you finish, like a genius.

"Look," she says. "You don't have to... you're obviously messed up and you have the right to be. Don't get weird and macho, Strider, we all get messed up about things, even cool kids like you."

You just look at her for a second -- she’s managing to make you get close to talking about something, actually talking about something, and this girl is a problem because she’s pretty and fucked up enough that you can relate to her but not exactly Rose-level fucked up, which is probably a good thing. You realize that you’re just looking at her right about the time you realize that she’s laughing at you.

"Nice pants," she says.

You don't look down, because that would be admitting a reaction to the tease at all, but you don’t have to. You know goddamn well you're wearing ninja pajama pants.

"I know," you say, with cool guy Zen. "Everyone's jealous of my wardrobe. It's unfortunate. Like. What, I have a gift. I'm a gold medal badass."

Ruby smirks. "This is the thing," she says, "I'd think you were trying to be cool right now except shit like that comes way too naturally, am I right? So, you're that guy. The guy who runs his mouth." She doesn't let you answer. "You're a good leader."

"I, uh," you start to say, and you are just a genius all over today, like MENSA's got their shit in the mail for you.

"Your computer booted," she says, and rests back against the couch.

You go into the encrypted channel, waiting for something from your excited French college students, but it’s a waiting game. You don’t know if you want to talk to Rose today, even if she might be dead. You’re going to wait. "At least you can tell I'm cool," you say to Ruby, without looking at her. "Good sign for your coolness factor."

"I’ve always been cool," she starts in a deadpan you’re really enjoying until you recognize it as an imitation of your own, especially when she keeps going. "I’m so cool that you won’t even realize my full coolness until, boom, explosion of cool. You’ll never see it coming."

"You’re imitating me," you say, squinting at her even if she can’t really see anything besides your eyebrows going _what the fuck, hey_. "Why are you imitating me?"

"I’m just cool, bro," she says, and starts laughing.

"Just, uh, stick with your whole -- girl -- thing," you say, realizing how stupid it sounds. "It’s way better. For you."

"Oh my god, listen to you," Ruby says, grinning at you. "‘Girl thing.’ I’d be offended but it’s almost cute, but that might be because I haven't slept since we got here? I don’t know."

With the smiles and the flirting, she’s probably trying to distract you; she’s actually doing a decent job, and it might have worked on anyone but you, king of deflection. Not to mention that you’ve also known Rose Crocker Lalonde for years. She has to do better than that. "Get sleep," you say, ignoring the rest. "You're safe."

"Are we?" she asks, apparently rhetorically.

You glance around. You've rented out the entire fifth floor of this apartment building, have twenty-five people here right now, and are expecting at least ten more. It never occurred to you that you needed any help to protect them because this is your complete obsession right now. "I'm not going to let anyone get hurt."

"You don't have to do it alone," she says, somewhere in between amusement and annoyance. "Why would you have to do it alone?"

"I'm a fucking general. That's what that means." You obviously know what she's getting at with the whole previous conversation that you’re ignoring ever happened. "Look, help is appreciated. Great. Totally awesome. Just, actually get sleep."

"I don't need beauty sleep," she says in a very different deadpan than before, and much to your horror you realize you are visibly embarrassed at that. She’s beaming at you. "God, Strider. This is going to be fun."

"I promise it's not," you say, soberly as you can manage.

"Go try to sleep," you say, firm, as an order, then she just rests back against the couch and ignores you. You take this as a sign to harass her later -- maybe she’ll fall asleep next to you -- and open Pesterchum.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 5:16 --
> 
> TG: hey
> 
> TG: checking in
> 
> TG: i know weve both been busy
> 
> TG: hq is set up
> 
> TG: rallied the troops
> 
> TG: twenty-five people
> 
> TG: more on the way
> 
> TG: how long til you get here

No reply. She's set at away.

> TG: whenever youre back
> 
> TG: let me know
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 5:20 --

You take a deep breath, and give up on the whole general thing, at least for a second. "Breakfast?" you say to Ruby, who isn't even pretending to sleep now. Maybe food will help.

"You... know how to cook," she says slowly.

"I lived on the road my whole life. Yeah, I know how to cook. No chef shit, but it'll do." You set your laptop aside after locking it, then stand. "Eggs. I bought eggs."

"Eggs would work." Ruby follows you into the kitchen.

(Somehow you manage not to get nervous as she helps you out, with minimal flirting, because you're getting the impression she's both not messing with you and not getting pushy either. Besides, it’s better than the deep, feelings-y conversation. Fuck that.)

Around 7:30 you message Rose again, because what Ruby brought up is starting to get to you.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 7:32 --
> 
> TG: either youre awake and ignoring me or youre dead
> 
> TG: no way youre dead this early in the game 
> 
> TG: i know youre awake
> 
> TG: you are always annoyingly awake
> 
> TG: up reading and shit
> 
> TG: so talk
> 
> TG: i actually am asking you to talk
> 
> TG: so
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 7:35 --

This is just sad.

You do a security sweep, talk to Mark and Luke, program some extra stuff for the security system, then it's lunchtime and Ruby cooks.

The Vermas show up, kind of a surprise since they seemed fine with the idea of being in hiding weeks ago. You’re ready to ask them what the fuck is up, then they hand you a stapled stack of paper. "The Mirsas sent this information with us," Adya says, keenly, "and we want to help from now on. So we’re here."

You glance over the printed information, then look skeptically up at her. "If you're going to stick around we need to get you fully digital. You said the Mirsas sent this? Where did they get it?"

"Reza said she got scans from Miss Lalonde to create a database and her information was the first in there," Hana says, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "We should get to work, right, sir?"

You start paging through the paper. It’s chunks of a blueprint. "Mark!" you shout.

"What?" Mark leans out of his room.

"Stop whatever fucked up thing you’re planning and get the fuck over here." You pull the staple out and wave the Vermas over as well as Mark as you lay out the blueprints on the table in the right order. "Tell me what I’m looking at."

Mark edges past you and rearranges a few pieces. "We don’t know," Hana admits. "It’s not Skaianet technology."

"I need supplies," Mark says, standing over the blueprints and staring at it. "We can build it."

"When you don’t know what it does," you say flatly.

Mark shrugs. "The only way to find out is to build it."

"We don’t have some of these materials," Adya points out.

"You don’t know that." Mark taps the symbols on the side of the blueprints. "If we decode this… Dave, you can do this, right?"

You didn’t even see the symbols until just now. You look closer at them. "I’ve seen these." They were on a cave wall, months ago. "Yeah, I can do that. I’ll do that, you take apart whatever goddamned thing you’re building in there, I’m not stupid, Mark. Hana, Adya, look at this and try to figure out the basics before we go look for supplies."

The Vermas leave, and you’re stuck with Mark, who isn’t leaving. You stare at him, then he starts talking.

"General," Mark says, in that tone you know means he’s being a fucking teenager again. It doesn’t matter that you’re sixteen, nearly seventeen, it matters that you aren’t _a teenager._ There’s a difference. You eyeball him. "You need to see what I’m doing."

"No," you say. "Take it apart."

" _General_ \-- "

"Stop flattering me and take it apart."

Luke steps between you, and you sigh wearily at him, shaking your head. "Let’s be reasonable about this. Mark, what are you building?"

Great, Luke was listening and just waiting for you to need intervention. You have a diplomat on your hands. It’s not the worst thing, you guess, but it makes you wonder what'll happen when Rose gets here. "If it’s anything fucking with the signal I don’t want to hear about it."

Mark pauses, looking caged. "Well -- "

You are so done with him. "Oh for fuck’s sake, I told you we can’t do that until everyone’s together and -- "

"I tapped it! I tapped it, we can listen now without getting… involved," Mark tries.

"We -- " You luckily stifle the words before you say them. _We already could._ Apparently, not everyone can. "You sure?"

"I’m sure." Mark looks more worried and troubled than you’ve ever seen him, which is really to say _at all._ "I listened. And I was fine, it’s just… you’ve heard her," he asks.

"I talked to her in person," you say wryly, "but yeah, I heard her before that."

Luke interrupts. "Let’s hear it."

As usual, you’re simultaneously pissed off at Mark and having to concede that he’s useful. It’s terrible and you hate it. Whatever. You follow him into his room, and there’s an antenna stretching nearly to the ceiling. "How the fuck," you say.

"He’s stealing," Luke says mildly. "Turn it on, man."

Mark flicks a switch on the box the antenna’s coming out of, and the speakers it’s attached to crackle. The fan of the desktop computer it’s attached to starts running hard, and something that sounds like a phone picking up goes through the speakers. Then it starts.

_OBEY. SURRENDER HUMANITY. FEAR INDIVIDUALITY. LISTEN ONLY TO US. OBEY._

It runs for three minutes before Luke reaches over and flicks the off-switch.

"Well, none of us seem to be affected," he says, "but that’s no guarantee."

"We were hearing it anyway," Mark reasons. "Now we know what it’s saying."

They’re obviously fucked up about it. You weren’t thrilled to hear it either, even if you’d already heard it before. "What do we do with it?"

"Record it?" Mark hazards.

"And do what with it?"

"Keep it on record, give it to Luis, so that when we tell everyone -- "

 _Tell everyone._ The look on your face stops him dead. "Do that," you say, and look to Luke, who’s looking at you with the same expression of concern and uncertainty Mark has on his face. Then you look back to Mark. "If this breaks the signal…"

"There’s no proof it doesn’t affect us," Mark points out.

"But if it does, could this tech be used to jam its effects for at least an individual?" you ask.

There’s a brief pause. "Yes," Mark says, a little surprised, probably that you thought of it first.

"Then we’ll do that. You’re going to figure it out. Put your obnoxious shit to use. We’re going to -- " You don’t even know. "Rose is almost here, we’ll figure it out from there."

"Have you heard from her?" Luke asks you.

You ignore him and just leave to head to your computer. This day is starting to get to you.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 12:04 --
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: okay
> 
> TG: whatever
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 12:06 --

Lunch is a decent affair, even if you have to cram a bunch of tables together to get everyone in the same apartment. Ruby falls asleep on the couch after, and you’re clearing out the dishes like some kind of chump (aren’t you a general or something? what kind of general helps with cleanup?) when you hear someone knocking on a door down the hallway.

No one’s in that apartment, because everyone’s in the main apartment. No one ever comes to this floor; no one knows anyone lives here besides the sketchy-ass landlord. Anyone who's here knows it's you who's here. The landlord probably got paid off, if he was lucky. Either way, fuck that guy.

Everyone goes silent. You draw your sword and head towards the door, waving Luke over to join you.

More knocking. You debate the element of surprise, but you might lose it if they see the door opening and you’re in the same position you’d be if they kicked the door down. At least, though, then everyone else would be safe. You wait for the next knock, and take a deep breath as it does.

They’re two doors away. You hate to do it but you go to Ruby, shoving her shoulder. "Wake up."

Ruby blinks at you. "‘m awake."

"Strife," you say, not apologizing, focused. "Come on."

She pulls herself up, draws her guns, and stands behind you with Luke as you carefully open the door, silently, just barely. Then you whisper, "Not to kill," and shove the door open, backing down so Ruby can take a few shots.

She fires twice, and you’re still not over how fucking _loud_ guns are oh jesus god why. Why. Your ears ring but you realize the Imperiacorp guards are on the ground, groaning, and you kick the door shut, heading towards them with your sword on the ready. They’re both bleeding; she managed to hit one in the gut and the other in the leg, and you can hear the one with the gut wound start to hyperventilate as he sees Luke’s electrified swords.

The one with the leg wound reaches for something, and you immediately put your sword to his arm. "You want to lose two limbs today?" you ask, and barely glance at Ruby. "Grab the thing."

She reaches for it, pulling a radio out of his belt. It starts talking right away. "Troops 231 and 232, report," a female voice blares, with static.

You’d think they’d have better tech. You gesture for the radio, impatiently, and shift your sword back to better operate the radio. These are older guys, so you drop your voice just a bit. "Troop 231 reporting. Nothing to see here."

"231, status of device?"

Oh, _shit_. They found you because of Mark’s fuckery. Of course they did. "Device was abandoned and destroyed."

"232," the other radio blares, then, the same voice. "Status of 231?"

Shit, you’re busted. Han Solo made this look cool, and you are not Han Solo, which this situation is forcing you to admit. You gesture to Luke, who steps on the gut-shot guard’s hand and grabs the radio. "232, reporting," he says, very graciously. "Device is destroyed."

"Roger, 232," the dispatch says. "Return to base immediately."

Well, you didn’t think this through completely. You’re really going to have to kick Mark’s ass if this tech doesn’t pan out. "Shit," you say.

"Send us back," 231 says, surprising the hell out of all of you. "Don’t kill us, send us back."

"Send you back so your guys will kill us," Luke says skeptically.

"No, I think we don’t really have a choice," Ruby says, cocking one of her guns.

"For fuck’s sake," you snap. If you weren’t cool someone might think you were panicking. This is General shit, and you can do it. "No. We're going."

Luke looks at you, surprised.

"We have other places to go." You switch your specibus and draw the taser, cranking up the voltage. "Get the radios, get Mark, he's going to sweep them for tech _now_. Now!"

Ruby goes, and you knock out the troops.

"He's going to die," Luke says quietly.

"I know." You don't know what else to do, you're not fucking happy about it, but you have twenty-five people to take care of.

Mark had better have something to show for this, at least after a few days.

(You don’t know what she would have done, but you still wish Rose was here.)

\--

So, it turns out that the FBI is actually not completely terrified enough to fail to investigate BCCorp and the batterwitch "myth" in general. You wish you would have found this out in a different way, but one can’t have everything.

"Miss Crocker," an agent calls to you from outside the holding cell and by instinct you refuse to answer to it. "Miss Crocker." She opens the door and approaches you. You don’t look at her, less pointedly than casually. "Rose," she tries.

"Yes," you say. "What?"

You seem to have taken her by surprise. FBI, try harder. "I’m Agent Parker, we have to question you. Come with me."

You answer by standing and following her out without a word. You wonder how long you can go with one word answers, and decide you’re going to try.

"Here we are," Parker says, and unlocks the door, ushering you inside. You sit down across from her, doing your best to communicate _bored disinterest_ , a challenge a sixteen year old’s face was made to meet. "My partner’ll be here in a minute. Sorry about the wait."

Good cop. Typical. "Let’s get this over with," you say. So much for one word answers. You shrug at yourself and at her.

"Somewhere else to be?" Parker asks, not entirely sarcastic.

"Generally."

She’s assessing you, you can tell. "I couldn’t help but notice your last name."

 _It’s not my last name._ "Mm."

"We can’t find records beyond your placronym, you know. It’s weird. Any idea how that happened?"

Parker’s just watching you and you really cannot believe she thinks you’re this stupid. "I had nothing to do with that," you say. "When’s your partner showing up?"

"A minute, like I said," she says. "Are you related to John Crocker?"

"It’s not an uncommon last name," you say mildly.

"But you happened to be in the hidden level of the John Crocker Library," Parker points out.

"Nothing gets past you." If the strategy is to annoy statements out of you with overly typical law enforcement tripe, it's working. "You were there too. Also interesting. Why?"

Parker looks like she wants to sigh, but doesn't. "We're questioning you, Rose, not the other way around. You were breaking and entering. Why?"

"For the same reason you were." You look at her, daring her.

"Really," she says, obviously not buying that. She pages through her file. "You were there with, ah, John Rosslyn. How did you two meet?"

Well, there's no delicate way to couch the truth, you realize with faint amusement. A lie? It's less funny when you consider your options are extremely limited. "I don't understand why I'm here. John, maybe. I'm a minor. Tell me why I'm here and I may talk."

"We just want to know to what purpose you were looking through BCCorp files," she explains.

"So you looked at them as well." You already had suspicions, but things are becoming clearer. "You really know no more about me than my name."

Her expression is unreadable, very likely on purpose. "Yes," she says.

"Get your partner. I'll tell you the truth."

It takes about two minutes; it occurs to you then they're probably thinking this is corporate espionage. You smile as they enter the room, Parker followed by a tall man, older, clearly the veteran. "Agent Cormier," he introduces himself. "I hear you have something to tell us."

You can't wait to stop that damn condescending tone from both of them. "You're right," you say.

"About what?" Cormier prompts.

"I was raised a Crocker. By the woman herself, at the Maryland compound. I imagine you and yours know something happened there, and if you don't I'm happy to tell you." You glance at Parker, who's listening intently. "The woman once called Betty Crocker is real and has plans beyond bakery. She has reach beyond her company. You know this, or suspect this, or you wouldn't have been there last night. You -- general, FBI you -- may have known this for some time, but, for whatever reason, bribes, fear, all that, you didn't do anything about it. John once worked for BCCorp, I met him at Maryland after Jade English helped me escape." You pause. "Oh, we were at the library because we needed more information about her reach and what we can do with our base to limit her influence. That should cover it."

The looks on their faces are completely worth this gambit. "Okay," Cormier says, "you're spying on BCCorp. Why?"

"Because she's evil and so are they. She's not after money, though it helps. I'm not after money either," you add. "Though I'll take donations. I take it you understand now?"

"Your base," Parker repeats. "I’d like to hear more about that, if you would, Rose."

"Sorry," you say promptly. "That I can't tell you. And I won't. You can charge me, charge John, put me in juvenile detention, and then BCCorp will have us killed and you'll lose so much intel on them you can't believe. So call me a corporate espionage agent who broke into private property to steal information, slinging conspiracy theories at you to get out scot-free. But I know things you don't, and can operate outside the law."

Cormier has a look in his eye; you were right to aim this at him. You smile, casually. "Let's make a deal," you say.

A half hour later, you see John again when you're getting your belongings back, and he's completely bewildered. "What did you do?" he whispers.

"They're scared," you say, "in over their heads, and don't know who to trust. They’ll give us a pass if we keep in contact. They want to use us, but we can use them to far better effect." You smirk at his _god you're fantastic_ face. "You're welcome."

"They thought this was a Patty Hearst situation, you know," he tells you, sliding on his Winspecs. "A kidnapping, for god's sake. Who would kidnap you?"

"Someone could try." You put on your HUBTOPBAND and pause for a long moment. You realize you've stopped dead when John doubles back.

Dave. Oh, Dave.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 5:16 --
> 
> TG: hey
> 
> TG: checking in
> 
> TG: i know weve both been busy
> 
> TG: hq is set up
> 
> TG: rallied the troops
> 
> TG: ten people
> 
> TG: more on the way probably
> 
> TG: how long til you get here
> 
> TG: whenever youre back
> 
> TG: let me know
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 5:20 --

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 7:32 --
> 
> TG: either youre awake and ignoring me or youre dead
> 
> TG: no way youre dead this early in the game 
> 
> TG: i know youre awake
> 
> TG: you are always annoyingly awake
> 
> TG: up reading and shit
> 
> TG: so talk
> 
> TG: i actually am asking you to talk
> 
> TG: so
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 7:35 --

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 12:04 --
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: okay
> 
> TG: whatever
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 12:06 --

You immediately project your keyboard out right then and there.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 2:24 --
> 
> TT: I'm okay, Dave.
> 
> TT: Things got complicated but I figured it out.
> 
> TT: I'm coming to HQ.

There's no response. You instantly sink into terror.

> TG: this is you right
> 
> TT: Yes.
> 
> TG: when are you coming
> 
> TG: what airport
> 
> TG: is jay coming with

You breathe again, and almost laugh. He’s checking that you’re safe, he doesn't believe it either, and you can't blame him.

> TT: John is coming with, yes. We should be arriving at Newark, as soon as we can. Does that work?
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> TG: we had to move hq
> 
> TG: were in jades long island location
> 
> TG: long island
> 
> TG: swear to fuck
> 
> TG: imperiacorp assholes
> 
> TT: Are you okay?
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> TG: get here
> 
> TG: we need you

For some reason you're so happy you can feel your skin tingling and your heart beating.

> TT: I will.
> 
> TG: cool
> 
> TG: btw im a general now too
> 
> TG: deal with it
> 
> TT: Cool.
> 
> TG: lemme know when you have the flight info
> 
> TT: I will.
> 
> TT: Dave?
> 
> TG: yeah
> 
> TT: Get some sleep.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 2:24 --

You sign off and put your arm in John's. "We're heading home."

He smiles, sadly. You focus on the good. You lean against him as you walk, some small comfort to the both of you.

\-- 

You're drawing on the walls.

No one said it was particularly good drawing, but that's the point. It's ironic. You could do better, but the whole point is seeing people's expectations and fucking with them. Bad art, bad grammar, absurdist humor, that's the _point_.

Those idiots who call you out for not bothering have never got it and never will. Poor fuckers. They have no sense of humor or irony. How do they even survive in such a fucked up world, anyway?

You're guessing shitty movies. You hate movies, except a few ironic remakes which really _get_ you. You think you could relate to the people who make those movies. You heard they're thinking about making a Starsky and Hutch movie. Or a 21 Jump Street one. You're incredibly optimistic about it.

Out of nowhere, you realize you're dreaming. There's a masterpiece in front of you, and you vaguely remember it from some point before you started creating it.

"You're awake," Rose says. She's standing behind you. She seems surprised.

"Nope," you say. Nope to all of it. You don't miss Rose this much.

You wonder how to wake up actually. Maybe if you're awake you should go to sleep. Besides, if Rose wants you to do something, you're a little inclined to not do it, and being awake isn't very awesome right now anyway. You're remembering things that didn't happen, like the drawings.

"Nope," you say again, before Rose can say anything, and walk past her to the bed that's in purple fantasy dream world. She's looking at you. You ignore her.

You're tired. Dream-tired. You feel like you haven't slept for days. It's not hard to start drifting like a member of the Fast and the Furious cast trying to beat whatever bad guy can only be defeated by car stunts and friendship.

"Please wake up," Rose says, and her voice is almost, maybe, weak, like it was when she completely snapped about Jade.

But you can't. Reality is shifting. You don't want to.

You wake up. Like really. In your bed at HQ. Some stupid part of you remembers the dream perfectly, supposedly, but it's just a dream that's leaving your brain because it's just a dream, and you're starting not to remember it at all, but you're starting to get almost, maybe, guilty. Like it was when you started to talk to Rose about your dreams and they got louder, which is fucking stupid, so it's good that it stopped.

Either way, that Rose was just a dream Rose in stupid pajamas. You're fine. Real Rose will be here really soon.

Everything is fine. It's great. Besides the paranoia thing, as usual, you are fucking awesome.

You sit up, take out your PDA, and consider messaging Rose.

All you're picturing is that look on Dream Rose's face. But like you said before, you don't remember anything, so this must be some bullshit your brain cooked up because it wants you to be typical and beg for Rose to come back like you've already done like some kind of chump, and you're not having it. Fuck that.

See, it's fine. You pick up your PDA.

Rose has to message you first. You're not doing this stupid song and dance shit like you're prancing around on Broadway in Lion King or something. You're not Simba. You're not Mufasa. Although now you realize you'd definitely watch James Earl Jones tap-dance without even thinking. That'd be awesome as shit.

You message Luke, because you're lazy and he's always awake at this hour.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering parisBound [PB] at 6:03 --
> 
> TG: you awake
> 
> PB: Yes
> 
> PB: Did you hear Mark
> 
> TG: hear him what
> 
> PB: You sleep like the dead
> 
> PB: He was up all night building something
> 
> PB: He doesn't sleep you know that
> 
> TG: none of us sleep
> 
> TG: not really
> 
> TG: we should maybe
> 
> TG: hard to when you know a psycho alien bakery baroness is out there
> 
> PB: You're sixteen
> 
> PB: You'll be fine
> 
> PB: I need to sleep
> 
> PB: I'm old
> 
> TG: yeah you are
> 
> TG: whats he doing
> 
> PB: Probably following orders
> 
> PB: But someone should check
> 
> PB: He didn't eat dinner
> 
> TG: am i his dad
> 
> TG: are you
> 
> PB: You're his general
> 
> PB: Morale is important
> 
> PB: So is food
> 
> TG: isnt army food shit
> 
> PB: Have you tasted your food
> 
> TG: dont talk shit man
> 
> TG: ill demote you to washing floors and shit
> 
> PB: Rose is almost here
> 
> PB: She'll put me back to colonel status
> 
> TG: why does everyone know military ranks
> 
> PB: Google
> 
> PB: And also you are slightly hilarious about this
> 
> PB: I won’t lie
> 
> TG: yeah okay
> 
> TG: whatever
> 
> PB: Rose is coming to HQ
> 
> TG: i know that yeah
> 
> PB: You two good
> 
> TG: why wouldnt we be

You know what he's getting at and you're not saying a goddamn thing.

> PB: Just asking
> 
> TG: k
> 
> PB: Are you going to check on Mark
> 
> PB: Or should I
> 
> TG: i will
> 
> TG: gotta do something first
> 
> PB: All right
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering parisBound [PB] at 6:06 --

Comfortably not avoiding anything, you start reaching out to people on the encrypted channel; there's generally someone on there on any hour. You're 150 strong worldwide, which isn't bad for three months' work.

That eats away an hour and a half, then you have no excuses when you've run out of people to talk to.

It’s fine. You can talk to Rose without talking about It, the thing that happened, not the shitty movie with the clown that a punk band stole for their equally shitty music. “It” doesn’t even matter, so you’re good.

>   
> 
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 7:47 --
> 
> TG: hey
> 
> TG: assuming you're here
> 
> TG: any news

You’re trying not to think of how embarrassingly glad she's not dead or worse, every time you think about it or talk to her. At least people know better than to mess with you about it.

She seemed so worried, before, during It. But that wasn’t real.

> TT: Yes.
> 
> TT: We'll be at Newark tomorrow at noon.
> 
> TT: Thought about a train, but plane security is better. Harder for Imperiacorp to get around.
> 
> TT: We have weapons we can get through there, too.
> 
> TG: okay
> 
> TG: i uh

Fuck. 

You are not going to talk about this.

You are definitely not going to talk about this.

Fucking damn it. She seemed so real. _It won’t go away._ It’s not a dream, it’s a memory, a memory so real of the Rose you know, but that makes no sense, and you shouldn’t talk about it, because it didn’t happen.

Fucking _damn it._

> TG: you have a minute
> 
> TT: Yes.
> 
> TT: What's wrong?
> 
> TG: nothing
> 
> TT: I really don't believe that.
> 
> TG: fine
> 
> TG: more dreams
> 
> TG: more bullshit with you in stupid pajamas
> 
> TG: why do you even care anyway
> 
> TT: We're special. Remember?
> 
> TT: It's important.
> 
> TT: Or it could be important one day.
> 
> TT: I’m never clear on exactly which it is, myself.
> 
> TG: why would dreams be important
> 
> TG: remember
> 
> TG: brain puke
> 
> TT: Some of them are brain puke.
> 
> TT: Some of them are important.
> 
> TG: okay
> 
> TG: how are they important
> 
> TT: There’s information that can be gleaned.
> 
> TG: what
> 
> TG: are you telling me im psychic
> 
> TT: Not exactly. They’re important, though.
> 
> TG: how could you possibly know that
> 
> TT: You have to know by now that Jade knew things she couldn't have known or guessed.
> 
> TT: Luke has to have said.
> 
> TT: This is how.
> 
> TG: so jade is psychic because her dreams were true too
> 
> TG: wait

This is so much worse than you thought this conversation would get. Being honest blows, because suddenly you are very fucking nauseous and have the desperate need to abscond from your own brain.

You’ve put two and two together and got “fuck you.”

Yeah, this is bad.

> TG: i gotta go
> 
> TG: later
> 
> TT: Dave.
> 
> \-- temperedGramr [TG] ceased pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 7:53 --

You sign off hurriedly.

This can’t be true or real or anything, but the thought won’t go away, sticking to you like something you would normally have a ridiculous fucking metaphor for but right now you’re panicking too much to even come up with one. Because of a dream, months ago, and you finally realizing what it could mean.

NOPE YOU’RE NOT THINKING ABOUT THIS.

Except you are and you can’t stop it.

 _Did you see how you and Rose are going to die?_ Is that why she wouldn't talk about it? But that doesn't feel right, it doesn't sound right. You could feel it, and you were different, you --

The room is spinning. Your head is between your legs and it’s not helping. You are definitely about to puke. You run as quietly as you can to the bathroom.

As you lean against the toilet, you can't ignore the thought.

_When Rose is here, someone will get it. You won't be alone._

You’re not alone, you’re surrounded by people. It’s stupid, but essentially true anyway. Right now, it’s comforting.

She’ll be here soon.

You can wait. Things will be okay.

\--

John seizes your hand when you step off of the plane, in what might well be a fit of nerves. He’s apparently not nervous enough to go for one of the stupidly weaponized pieces of clothing and accessories that you both have, though, so you assume this is some kind of gesture of affection rather than a case of an itchy trigger finger in case Imperiacorp is waiting for you.

The two of you walk in silence and calm to the gate, then you see Dave, a man who must be Luke -- you’ve never met him in person, after all -- and a teenager, all standing at the gate in a casual discussion. You stop, frozen, and John tugs at your hand.

"Come on," he urges you, and you nod and go ahead.

Dave completely breaks off mid-sentence when he sees you coming up, and smacks the teenager in the arm to shut him up. Admirably, you don’t go up and hug Dave, or anything so sentimental. You hold yourself back. This is what’s necessary now.

"I am so glad you're not dead," you inform him mildly.

Dave eyes John, who’s just casually smiling. "Yeah, likewise," he says. "John, right?" he directs at him, wearing an expression that’s clearly critical if you know him at all.

"Yeah," John says, and holds out his other hand. You only realize at that point that you’ve been holding onto John’s hand this whole time, and let go of it. "Hey, Dave."

"Hey," Dave says, quickly shaking John’s hand. He’s not acknowledging you at all now. You were completely right; this is incredibly awkward, and likely only going to get worse. "Uh, this is Mark. Mark, Rose."

Mark looks at you with clear amusement and surprise. Then he looks at Dave, who glares. Then he holds his hand out. "My pleasure, General Lalonde."

You shake his hand, smirking, then look to Luke, who offers a high five to you. "You survived," you commend him. "John -- this is Luke. Luke, John."

"Pleasure," Luke tells John, and adds to you, "I'll tell you what happened after Maryland. You and Dave really need to hear -- we had other things going on, before, but now that we’re all together -- "

"Yeah, let’s not do this here. We should get back," Dave says; finally, he's looking at you again, ignoring John, just focused on you. You restrain even the smallest smile. "Everyone wants to meet you."

You don't know why you're nervous.

"Let's go."

\--

_Weeks in the future, but not many..._

A HOSTILE AGENT stares at his FENESTRATED WINDOWS.

There's a whole lot of stupid out there right now, the least of it being that his EMPRESS is insistent that he not do anything about the kid running around causing shit and the girl who got underfoot cutting in on his business. The lady doesn't have a clue how to run things. He has ideas. He has plans.

But all of that's gonna have to wait, because the EMPRESS is more than a little ahead of him.

There's the kid. The whole thing with the kid is complicated. He didn't get attached to the kid. He doesn't really care what happens to the kid. He just wants to be able to do his goddamned work.

Something's gonna happen, whether the boss lady's behind it or not.

On the FENESTRATED WINDOW in front of him, the kid grabs the girl's hand and pulls her forward; the AGENT stares at it with his entire carapace tensed.

"Are you sure about this, boss?" the Dignitary says.

"Of course I'm sure, why wouldn't I be sure," the AGENT says. "You got our next location locked down?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He turns the windows off.

Whatever goes down, goes down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's some dumb posturing going on in this chapter and pairing back and forth nonsense. I can't help that these people got so petty!
> 
> I hope some of these plot twists are sufficiently interesting :D

_December 2003_  
There are enough people that the only place that really fits all of you (at least, nearby) is a pair of condominium buildings that Skaianet owns in Long Island. They share a courtyard, which is where everyone is today, in winter coats, breaths streaming in the cold.

You haven't been around this many people you can supposedly, hopefully, trust, in possibly ever. No, this is definitely a new thing.

As Dave introduces them to you, you can feel faces blurring, names vanishing from your mind the instant you hear them. This isn't because you can't remember them. You're fully aware this is a psychological phenomenon. You can't handle this, and your mind is compressing your memory in real-time.

It's remarkable. You're not sure you'd have it any other way. You, Rose Lalonde, are not a social creature by nature. That trait changing overnight would herald something troubling.

Dave only notices about five people in. "Uh. Hey."

"Yeah?" you return. He's pointedly not wearing a concerned expression. "Good amount of people here. You did a good job at recruitment."

"Yeah. You did a good job at whatever you were doing," Dave answers, wonderfully passive-aggressive. "I'm assuming. You know. You and John."

"Dave," you say, "I basically just got here and this is already getting stupid."

"Yeah, well," Dave says. He looks exhausted. "You're deflecting."

"You started it." You glance around. "As much fun as this is, shouldn't all of us talk?"

"You mean the four of us," Dave supposes.

“Five."

He looks blank, glances down at his hands as if to count, then shrugs. It irritates you, but not in a bad way. Besides, you knew this sort of posturing was coming. "You know, people were looking forward to meeting you," he says.

 _Really._ “I hate to fail the masses, but I have other things on my mind. Are you really into this whole populist thing now?”

Dave has that squinty look on his face like you’re trying to pull something on him. “Is there something wrong with wanting the people who are working for us to not think we’re jackasses?”

You return that look, straight-faced as you can possibly manage. “Are you suggesting they think I’m a jackass?”

“I’m suggesting you’re kind of acting like one, Lalonde,” he says. “Just meet them. Do you need me to introduce you to everyone personally? You’re acting like you’ve just met human lifeforms for the first time and, oh shit, what are these things called mouths and how do I expel words from it, fuck.”

“Typing is easier,” you say, and smile, because he may not know you in person very well yet but he has to know what that, in essence, means. At least you hope so. “Do you want to know what I was doing?”

“No, I hate knowing things,” he says, scratching his head and not looking at you. “Never tell me anything. Actually, no, it’s more like keep telling me nothing. Should be easy. Well, not anymore, we’re going to be working together, so.”

“We were working together the whole time.” You didn’t want this to be like this. You wonder how you could have prevented it. “I was following Jade’s clues, you knew that. I needed to find some things, which I'll tell you about when the five of us talk. Give me a chance, Strider," you add pointedly. "I'm trying to catch you up, maybe at the expense of kissing babies."

"There aren't babies to kiss yet," he says grimly, "but it's a matter of time. Too many people, suddenly two or three to a bed and we're a daycare. Daycare of the revolution. Raising child soldiers. Dressing them up in uniforms and teaching them how to assemble guns by age two."

"Dave," you say.

"I'm just saying there are a lot of people here. I'm as fucking weirded out as you are, gotta manage them, though. Or everyone starts panicking. They’re ready for big shit now that we’re together, you think we can manage big shit?"

"General, I think when we are ever together, the shit content is high." You eye him, and he looks right back at you, clearly waiting for you to do something, so you do. "Come on. Get Mark and Luke, I'll get John. We'll meet... it's your turf, you pick. I'll introduce myself some, it can't be so difficult."

Dave looks skeptical. "I'll see you in the kitchen in five," he says, and glances back at you before he heads out of the living room.

You manage a brief conversation with a couple of people -- one of them is named Ilya, the other Katrina, and they were nearly killed midway through a heist on Crockercorp and have been on the run since -- before John spots you and saves you. "What's up?" he prompts you as he pulls you away.

“We’re all going to meet in the kitchen. We have to tell them what we were doing or Dave’s going to bury me in passive-aggressive comments.” John’s got this expression on his face, one you can’t exactly read. It almost looks like concern, but there’d be no reason for that. “What?” you prompt him.

“Have you ever been around this many people?” he asks.

Ah. You don’t acknowledge that. “I think it’s this way.”

John might sigh behind you. You don’t care.

When you open the kitchen door, Dave’s talking. “ -- don’t get why we spent the drive here talking about -- ” He stops when he sees the two of you there.

“Oh, go on,” you say, with a mild smile, and glance back at John when he shuts the door behind the two of you.

Mark clears his throat, and finishes pouring his glass of water. Everyone universally decides to ignore the awkwardness. Dave, for his part, is perfectly expressionless. “Don’t know why we wasted time, honestly.”

John talks before you can. “We needed a break. And sleep.”

“You could have -- fine.” Dave doesn’t want to talk to John, that much is obvious. “I don’t know that we have time for breaks anymore.”

“We need to take breaks,” you say firmly. At least, John does. You just fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion after fifty hours awake. “We haven’t had much time for them, and I think we’re losing our minds under the pressure.”

He shakes his head at you. “We need to talk before anything else, I need to know what’s going on with you, with Luke, too. He’s on his way to us, I think he's checking in with the Vermas.”

“I have a question, before we get to that,” John says. He’s far enough from you now that you can’t throw an elbow invisibly into his side, so you just shoot a look at him, which he ignores as he goes on. “You were busted by Imperiacorp, that’s why you’re here instead of in the city, right?”

“Yeah, Mark did something and our location was, uh.” Dave seems to mentally rummage through the lingo and come up short. “They tracked us down. _Compromised._ That.”

“You ran,” John says. He pulls up a chair and sits backwards on it. “Why?”

You sigh and take a seat by him, placing yourself between him and Dave purposely. Mark sits, too. “Well. Rather not have people die,” Dave says reasonably.

“I’m serious,” John says, leaning his chin on the back of the chair. “You didn’t execute them? Now they know for sure we’re out -- that there’s a group of us out -- ”

“There’s no way they didn’t know all of that already.” Dave’s still standing, arms crossed. He’s not sitting, probably not any time soon, because you assume that would be tantamount to surrender. Masculine posturing. “No point executing them.”

John looks up at him pointedly. “It’s a message.”

“A message,” Dave repeats; his consonants are crisp. He is very pissed off, already. “How many messages have you two been sending?”

You raise a hand. “Slow down,” you say evenly. “Focus. Next time we’ll talk it through.”

“We need to, as a group, concede that blood will need to be shed sometimes,” John says, brushing right past your attempt to be a calming influence. “ _She_ doesn’t care about killing anyone, why should we? We’re at war.”

Dave shifts his weight back, probably wanting to sit, or punch John, you can’t quite tell. All you know is he’s attempting to behave. “Imperiacorp are people, last I checked,” he says, in a tone you have to assume is a desperate attempt to stay casual and not snap. If nothing else, you appreciate the slight effort involved in all of this. “And people try not to kill people if they don’t have to, I don’t know about you.”

You open your mouth, but John speaks first, and you fire another sharp look at him. “It doesn’t matter what... species they are, they are what they are, and have orders to kill us.” He’s ignoring you. Of course he is. “You want to save the people on our side, you can’t spare everyone -- have you ever even -- ”

“I killed someone, yeah,” Dave says, a very specific type of toneless. “I don’t think I -- ”

There's the line. You stand, shoving your chair back. “That,” you say, “is enough. John, shut up, Dave, shut up. Someone get Luke.”

Mark jumps to his feet, but Luke comes through the door before he can go. Luke’s face immediately communicates that he has a very good idea of what just happened in this room, not that the idiots are being particularly subtle. “Let’s sit,” he says without further prelude.

Dave sits opposite of John, lounging back, because of course he does. You speak before he can speak, or John can speak, or anyone can. “A few things about what John and I were doing. Dave, you remember I was working from some information from Jade.” _You know something, so relax._ “She had e-mails triggered to send to me after her death. There were some useful things she’d sent, including the extra real estate properties you’ve used, and guidance to things she’d kept safe for us. I’ll deploy the specific, most important thing after we all talk. You’ll understand later,” you say to Dave’s change in posture.

“Yeah, fine,” he says. “Why’d you go dark? You never said.”

You didn’t want to think about how complicated it would be, is the real answer. “We were apprehended by law enforcement.”

There’s a moment of dead silence at the table, then Dave says, “Sorry, missed that, what?”

All you can think is that this is going to be a long revolution. “The FBI -- ”

John cuts you off. “Feds were at the library dedicated to Jade’s brother where we picked up intel. It was good intel, Rose has it on tap.”

“It’s uploaded to our server, along with what I could get the FBI to give to us after we left.” Even Luke is looking at you like you’re insane. “All right, go on and ask, any or all of you.”

“You made a deal with the feds,” Dave says the second you finish talking, and you’re thinking by the end of the day his “casually furious and also mildly hysterical” tone is going to settle comfortably in the lexicon of all things thoroughly Dave. “You’re exchanging information with the federal government?”

“With the FBI,” John says.

“ _Who are the federal government_ ,” Dave says.

“Dave,” Luke cuts in. “They may be hemmed in by the government proper, but if they were researching and found the same source of intelligence that Rose and John found, it seems more likely than anything that they’re not corrupt and are looking for evidence on Crockercorp to indict them.”

“I get that,” Dave says, “but that doesn’t change that _the government will see this shit_ , at least eventually, because they’re government police, that is literally what the FBI is, so even if the entire FBI isn’t corrupt there are corrupt people who could see this shit and have us killed.”

“They don’t know where we are or who’s involved, beyond the obvious of me and John,” you say. Dave’s exhausting you all over again. “They can’t do anything because of the government. We’re outside of them, we can act on intel they give us. It’s a good deal.”

He’s not focusing in on you, but you can tell he is, somehow, he’s turned towards you without looking at you at all. “I’m just confused, because apparently we’re supposed to execute Imperiacorp grunts because of what they know, but we’re allowed to spill everything to a government agency, and that’s fine because you trust that they’re not going to turn around or be taken over by people who’ll immediately decide to call Crockercorp -- ”

“We didn’t spill everything,” you say, intent on not losing any more ground on this than you already have. “And we didn’t have a choice. This was better than being put in detention, likely taken from it, tortured for information, and murdered. At least I think so.”

“I get that, I swear, but you -- ” Dave throws his hands in the air. You glance casually at Mark and Luke, who look equally weary and fascinated. “You sound like you think this is a good thing. They can turn us in. Do they know where we are, do they have the channel? How are they getting a hold of you, Rose? Secret drops? Decoder ring shit?”

“I’ll be reaching out,” you say levelly. “Across their encrypted lines.”

“That sounds slightly less not great,” he says. “Total relief.”

You have to stand your ground, or this’ll turn into another battleground. You can’t afford to be attacking each other. “It’s not impossible this could work out in our favor. It already has, we have the records from the library, and access to other intel. Yes, It’s an uneasy alliance, one that could go sour, but one that could work out beyond just information.”

“You are the last person -- people -- I’d expect optimism from. Fine,” Dave says, tense. “We need to figure out an out, or a way to get their intel without getting anywhere near. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Now, another thing. About the experiments they were doing. Even at Maryland -- ”

Luke shifts forward in his chair, and you look up, surprised. “May I have the floor?” he asks, upon making eye contact.

Literally no one has even bothered to ask before talking, so you give him a nod. He leans onto the table. “I have to tell you about Maryland,” he says. “Just about everyone died. I think three or four of us survived, including you, Rose.”

“That many?” Dave asks, surprised. You weren’t going to say it, but you were thinking it.

Luke simply nods, his gaze focused on the center of the table and nowhere near on anyone sitting there. “They were moving the bodies, and kicked me awake, which surprised me as much as it surprised them, honestly. They grabbed me and the others. They took us to Virginia.” He looks up, expression thoughtful, but there are probably not good thoughts behind it. “They experimented on me, obviously, and a lot of others. It was unpleasant, and I don’t think they’re used to people surviving it. They seemed surprised I did. Honestly, so am I. There were a lot of bodies being moved out.”

There’s silence for a moment after he finishes talking, and then you speak up. “We’ve seen this,” you confirm. You can feel John breathing shallowly next to you. “What did they do, specifically?”

“I can’t speak to the science of it, they were using techniques I can’t even explain.” Luke shifts, stands, and goes to the knife block in the kitchen. He pricks his fingertip with a knife, then moves to show all of you the blood welling there.

There’s silence again. John is probably having a quiet mental breakdown next to you, but you'll talk to him eventually. “That’s yellow,” Dave says finally. " _Your blood is yellow_. Grey Poupon and shit. Oh fuck."

“Yeah,” Luke says grimly, and wipes it away. “Don’t really know why. Or why they’d bother. I know -- ” He presses his hand to his forehead, like he has a headache. “Shit. I know... not much. But ever since it happened, I get... flashes. I can feel things, mostly. Other people.”

“Psychic ability,” you prompt him with as he falls silent. “Yes?”

He sighs. “I can feel people in another room, further if they’re louder, I mean, if they’re in distress or other... loud emotions. Whatever. There were a lot of loud -- people -- something, in Virginia and especially in New York before I escaped. They were -- ” He’s struggling. He can’t seem to get his mind around it, or doesn’t want to, or both. “Angry. Focused. I couldn’t _hear_ \-- I wish I had. It reminds me of something, but even when I think about it or dream about it I can’t completely get it -- ”

“Luke,” you and Dave say at once, in very different tones. You speak first. “It’s fine.”

“Not really,” Dave says instantly, “and dreams are bullshit, Luke.”

“Mine help,” Luke says, and you feel somewhat gratified. “Makes sense of shit in daylight, sometimes, but anyway. I’m trying to remember, guys. It’s familiar, and… maybe it’s fucked up, but it could help. Maybe?”

“Experiments,” Mark says, not quite in response. You’ve almost forgotten he was there, intently listening. “What do they get out of biological experiments?”

“Psychic ability,” Dave repeats, eyebrows raised.

It’s the obvious question. But it’s worth considering. “She could get anything out of it,” you say. “With the biological technology she’s probably been working with for decades, she could have all kinds of psychics or... anything running around. We have to figure out at least some of the experimentation and what the people she’s experimented on can do. There’s some research and intel we have on the experiments they've done, these might be in there. Luke, can you and the Skaianet scientists look it over?”

“I’m not so much a scientist, uh, I’m a surgeon,” Luke says, “but I take your point. Yeah.” He looks deeply uncertain, but gives you a mock-salute. You’ll take it.

Dave glances at Luke before he stands, and then back at you. “We should look at your intel,” he says. He looks you in the face without that incredibly guarded look on his face, and there’s no other word for what it does except _heartens you._ “There’s a lot, right? So we should get people looking at it.” He pauses. “We need more computers.”

“Buy a few computers, then let me buy parts for more,” Mark says, looking at Dave, who looks back at him, and you guess something like agreement happened there. Were you really gone so long that Dave’s bonded with these people so well?

“I can build them too,” Dave reminds Mark. “Before you get all fucking smug.”

John touches your arm, and you glance at him. “Smile,” he says.

You fix a dispassionate look on him, and he grins. “I should probably introduce myself around,” you concede. “Before dinner. I’ll try to figure out human lifeform things, like words and how to say them. I guess it might help.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dave says; he might even have smiled for a second there. “But before you do -- show us the life-changing tech Jade gave you.”

You smile, then. "You'll be a natural," you promise him, and turn to find a space large enough for the alchemiter and attendant parts.

\--

It’s been a week since Rose arrived at HQ. There’s been a lot going on. You’ve been building computers, since the grist cost for alchemizing them is really steep for what you have around; once you’ve got a few done, your people start reading through all of the papers, research, records, and studies that Rose got her hands on and meticulously organized in the times she’s been presumably not sleeping; Mark, Hana, and Adya are still experimenting with building what’s on that blueprint. The group of fighters are training constantly, though you've told them the aim is not exactly to build an army.

You guys haven't really figured out a solid plan yet, but you feel like Rose is working on it because of course she is. You're not really keen on her just doing it by herself because Rose is Rose, so you're constantly working, doing anything that you can, up late, up early. Does it count as “up” if you didn’t sleep?

“Did it ever occur to you that they shouldn’t be building that thing?” Ruby asks you from the doorway, surprising you only a little as you assemble the laptop on the hardwood floor of your room.

“Yeah,” you say comfortably.

Ruby sits cross-legged next to you. “So you think they should be building it, or you don’t care if they do?”

“Once they get a few pieces together, they’ll figure out what it is and probably won’t build it if it’s going to be a problem. Or I’ll kick Mark’s ass if he does it anyway, because I really don't want to move all of our people and shit again.” You consider the RAM you have, and pick a middling one. “Once they’ve got that figured out... well, it could help with other shit. I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go along. Don’t tell the others that.”

“I don’t think you’re completely making it up as you go along.” When you look up, Ruby’s closer than you remember her being a second ago. “You have a plan. I think we all know you do.”

“Kind of,” you concede, looking back down at the laptop you’re assembling as though Ruby isn’t _right there_. Is she even doing that on purpose? “Working on it. I wish I could just ‘I Dream of Jeannie’ a plan into motion. We’re not a democracy but we’re not a dictatorship, either.”

“I’m sure you’d be a benevolent dictator if it came to it,” she says.

You really hate being high school age sometimes, because she needs to stop talking in that tone that she doesn’t even seem to know she talks in. “Think we’ve had enough of dictators. I like democracy. President Strider works for me.”

“You think they’d let a sick dude like you into the White House? Presidents are notoriously boring.” She makes a stupid face at you when you look up at her with a little amusement, then she sobers. “I won’t tell anyone there are issues.”

“You don’t tell anyone anything,” you say to her, eyebrows raised, then affix the keyboard. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

“Heh,” she says, and draws her knees to her chest. “You’re not going to sleep tonight, are you?"

“Things to do,” you answer. You only have so many more screws to put in and pieces to click together, then you might actually have to look her in the face. You consider taking it apart again just to avoid that. “Will you? You should sleep more than I do.”

“ _You_ are a general, Dave,” she answers, prodding your arm. "Doesn't that mean you should be sleeping more than I do?"

“General, President, shit, my dad would be so proud.” Damn it, it’s done. You move past her to plug the adapter into the wall, and check to see if it’ll get to the boot screen. It does. “...Hey, check it.”

“Dave.” Your name is almost a sigh from her, just about every time she says it. “Is there anything I can do?”

You decide you can’t excuse not looking at her anymore, and sit comfortably back against the wall, happening to look her way. The OS disc can load up while you're bullshitting her. “You’re good patrol. Keep patrolling.”

Ruby opens her mouth to say something, shuts it, and looks at you in frustrated surrender. “I should arrange patrols, now that you mention it,” she says, and shifts back like she's going to stand. "They've basically made me the head of that, you probably know. It's almost like they know I have an in with the boss." She smirks, eyeing you.

You look away instantly. "Yeah, uh," you say. "Gotta stop that."

You instantly wonder why you said that, but you can't unsay it. Ruby is silent for a moment, but just as you're about to flee she speaks. "Gonna have to look me in the face for me to believe that, Strider."

You don't think you can look her in the face, possibly ever again. What the fuck. You fought an immortal fish-alien. This is not scarier than that. "Just saying," you mumble. "Don't have this figured out yet and there's a lot going on and we're just busy and everyone could die and this isn't the time, not like you're not, you know, really, uh -- "

"I can barely hear you and I'm right here," Ruby cuts you off with, her frustration clear though she's calm. You think this is how you might die, not by the batterwitch’s rainbow magic and trident like you have nightmares about, but instead by girl. What the fuck, how stupid are you? "Look, figure it out. I know there's a lot to deal with. I can't sleep either just thinking about it. But you're not alone and I'm tired of watching you burn yourself out like you're all alone and _I'm right here_ , you -- "

It happens both really quickly and incredibly deliberately; you realize she's in your space, terrifyingly close, then you look at her and she touches your face, and you probably have the stupidest possible look on your face, but she doesn't seem to care because she kisses you.

So the kiss is kind of awesome and humiliating in a way, but it’s also weirdly disappointing in a way you’re not sure you can put your finger on. Either way, you stop her pulling back and kiss her again, then it’s way too awkward for reasons you don’t want to deal with; she’s _looking at you_ , still stretched out pushing down the top of the laptop in your lap, all expectant and interested, and there you are dying again.

“Wanna make out?” she asks, and you think the word for this is probably coy. Coy, and deadpan, you know that one. God, it’s so much easier to think bullshit than it is dealing with this.

The answer is probably yes. You’re frozen, though, like an idiot, then you make an executive decision with your awkwardness to at least move the laptop from between you, then she’s kissing you again and it’s that same mix of awkward and awesome all over again.

It’s a distraction, too. Distractions are great.

Eventually Ruby shifts away after a glance at her watch, talking about patrols, and you hate her a little bit but it’s a relief at the same time. You manage to say something resembling a _see you later_ , and then you realize that she took your shades off. 

You cram them back on your face, in totally cool not-panic, and roll your shoulder once her footsteps fade with a slight cringe. Everything is fine, and all you are is uncomfortable, because you just made out with a girl against a wall, which is a thing that just happened. Goddamn, this whole thing is surreal.

“You’re all red,” Rose says, from the doorway.

Oh, look, a new nightmare. You look up at her. She’s all amused. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, casually as you can manage. Yeah, you’re cool. You can do this.

“Wondered when she’d jump you.” She leans against the doorframe. “You make a cute couple.”

All of the sudden you’re kind of pissed off, for some reason, but you also know you shouldn’t show it. “If you were watching, that’s weird as hell,” you tell her.

“I wasn’t watching, I happened to see her leave.” She raises her eyebrows. “Did you think I’d disapprove?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it at all.” Sometimes you’re not sure what the fuck your mouth is doing.

“What, is this... thing really so casual? Or is it that my opinion is irrelevant to you?” Rose gestures, all fake confusion. "Or am I wildly off-base? I'm just curious, Dave."

Yeah, you're officially annoyed. "You're being obnoxious," you tell her calmly, or at least you hope it's calmly. You may have lost control of the situation. "Haven't figured it out with John yet?"

"You're taking me too seriously again," she says; her expression hasn't changed from that barely-there amusement. "You really think it's like that with me and John?"

"I think he wants it to be like that." Why are you talking about this? "Call it a hunch."

"I know he does." Rose leans into the room more, tone airy when she talks next. "You didn't answer my question."

"What question?" You really want this conversation over. "Jesus, Rose. Leave it alone."

"I'm your friend," she says. "Are you really so repressed you can't talk about this?"

Probably. "Don't psychoanalyze me, you know I hate that shit."

"It doesn't take psychoanalysis to tell you're high-strung and repressed," Rose says, still infuriatingly calm and amused.

"Then stop caring," you suggest. Your teeth are on edge, along with the rest of you. "We have better things to do."

"We can't be rebels every second of every day. Don't you ever want to bullshit the way we used to?"

"You brought me into this and I can't not think about it," you say, totally reasonably, probably. "I'd think you'd want to be focused."

"I'm focused. I'm just doing a better job of not having a visible breakdown, like you are." She says it all matter-of-factly. You hate that, right now, all you want to do is try to help this obnoxious girl, and all she wants to do is help you, but there's no way any of that is happening, for so many reasons.

"If I decide to have a breakdown," you say, in as close an imitation to her horrible calm tone as you can manage, "I'll try to keep it under wraps."

"Dave," Rose sighs.

You are really done with the condescension. "See you," you say, and lock your gaze on the laptop, where it waits for you to finish installing the OS.

"Dave -- "

There's the Dream Rose tone again, the one from the dream you didn’t have and don’t remember, which is even higher on the list of things you don't want to hear. "'Bye," you say, more loudly.

The silence from her direction, the way you can see from the corner of your eye that she shifts like she’s going to come inside the room, it all says fucking _Dave_ again, in whatever tone she might use this time, and it hurts just thinking about it. You just want her to go. It’ll be easier than anything she’s thinking about doing.

“Rose,” you say, not looking up from the laptop, tone muted.

“What’s your problem with John?” she asks.

It’s her damn psychologist voice again. You could punch something. “He’s a sociopath, that’s my problem. Your pet sociopath, maybe, but not any less of a sociopath.” You don’t want to talk to her. Why are you talking to her? “Didn’t I say ‘bye? I remember saying ‘bye.”

She’s looking at you and you can feel that she wants you to look back, but you’re not going to. “He’s no worse than me,” she says.

“He is, because I know you don’t believe that we should kill people just because they happen to be on the wrong side. There’s got to be a way to turn them towards us. There has to be something better than just slaughtering them -- they’re -- they’re probably all going to die anyway, so, why are we deciding they’re evil, when.” You’re running out of steam. “God, Rose, how is this a thing you can even be behind? We’re doing this to help people, to save humanity from an alien, why would we kill people on the way?”

Rose’s tone drops in volume, now. “We may never be able to turn Imperiacorp against her. That's more hypothetical than anything. We can hope to, Dave, but until then, what else can we do?"

"Kneecap them," you say. "I don't know why this is so hard to get." You suddenly, deeply crave the ability to talk about nothing with her again. You double down because that's not going to happen, even if it feels weird and unfortunate but whatever. "You know what I've been thinking, Rose, I've been thinking maybe the reason you're agreeing with that tool is he told you to do something fucking evil and you did it." You look up at her to check for a reaction.

You get one. Barely a reaction, but that shift back, the look that flashes through her eyes, that's what you were trying for. You can psychoanalyze too. "I did what I had to," she says.

"How'd John convince you into that?" you ask pointedly.

"I couldn't have done what I was doing alone. Not easily. I'd be dead without him," she says. You really got to her, wow, she almost sounds human. "He doesn't do philosophy. He just acts. And he's loyal."

"That justifies what he's saying? Whatever he's made you do?" You have the urge to stand up and argue with her on a less casual level, but you can't do it, probably for some bullshit psych reason like your ego. "I trust Mark because he's on the run, because he already did so much against Crockercorp before we ever did, I trust Luke because Jade knew him so well and put us with him or him with us. Why the hell do you trust John enough to put him at that table with us? I'd love to hear it."

Rose is dead silent, gaze down at the floor. "He was at BCCorp Maryland. In one of the labs."

You sit forward, instantly pissed. "He works for those -- "

You barely get that much sentence out before she stares you down and says, "No." She doesn't break eye contact. "He was experimented on, like Luke. We haven't talked about it."

You sit back again. It’s huge. You’re in fucking shock. "So when were you planning on mentioning this? Ever? What the fuck, Rose, this doesn't make me trust him, you know that, right?"

She doesn’t look remotely apologetic. "Yes. Are we going to argue about this, now? What’s the point? We can deal with the rest later."

You put the laptop aside and put your head in your hands before you look up at her, astounded. "It's not pointless if I tell you that we need to know shit. What if he's being controlled?"

"What if Luke is?” she retorts. “You don't like John, that's what I was asking about in the first place. I expected you to be indifferent but you hate him and I want to know why."

You’re not answering that. You don’t have an answer to that. "You have a theory, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked. I wouldn't fuck with your hypothesis.” But you can’t leave it at that, not during this conversation. “I hate him because he's done something to you."

Rose pulls the door shut and approaches you, stopping short when you look plainly at her. She stands straight. "You changed as much as I did, Dave -- "

You don't even hesitate. "For the better. How about you?"

That stuns her, but she smiles, that usual cool half-smile. "It seems we'll have a running debate."

You're fine. This doesn't matter in the long run. "Cool," you say.

“Get up.”

You glance up from the screen, confused. “What?”

“Get Mark and Luke. We’ll meet in the kitchen,” she says, and leaves your room all on a mission or something.

You sit like an idiot for a few seconds before you push yourself up, and go immediately to the next condo to find Mark, not knocking on his bedroom door so he can't hide whatever shit he's up to. You are relieved to find him not with his hand down his pants or something; instead he's just obsessively comparing chips, presumably for the unknown device thing. “We’re getting Luke, unless you want to fondle those all night,” you say.

Mark raises his eyebrows. “All right,” he says, and follows you on your way out.

Luke’s already left his room when you approach it. “Whatever,” he says when you stare at him, and you shrug, heading back to yours and Rose's condo.

Once you make it to the kitchen, it’s... a clusterfuck. “You had no right. You should have discussed this with me first,” John is snapping at Rose, then looks back at you, looking incredulously back at her.

“Thank you for coming,” she tells you, Mark, and Luke, her version of casual, then sits down by John at the table. “I had every intention of talking to you about this, but it came up and I considered it worthwhile to be honest about something we’d already discussed as a group and failed to mention. We should be honest,” she concludes.

John is rigid, and it may be petty but you’re glad to see him uncomfortable after all of his bullshit. “Fine,” he says.

“Right,” Rose says, and rests back slightly, as if this isn’t incredibly fucking awkward. You glance at Mark, who hurriedly shuts the door. “John was experimented on, too, at Maryland. This is information that could be useful and we should discuss it.”

“Give me something sharp.” John gestures impatiently. “I’ll show you. Tell you.”

“So,” you start to say, and Rose raises her eyebrows at you as she hands off some sort of weird silvery needle to John. You decide to shut up for now.

He stands, pokes his finger, and shows the rest of you. His blood is green. He sucks it off of his finger after a second. “I know as much as Luke does. No powers. The others were fucking monsters. I don’t know why I’m fine. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s it?” Rose asks delicately.

John is hyperfocused on Rose, still. You could throttle him. Maybe her, too. "If I remember anything else or it comes to mind -- uh, Luke, we can talk. But. That's all that matters."

You step forward, pointedly. "We'll decide what matters. Since this didn't seem to matter to you in the first place, I'm not sure I agree with your... what you seem to think is important. Priorities, those." Damn it. That could have been smoother.

John glares at you. "I'm done with this shit. Strider, what is your problem?"

Oh. On the other hand, _finally_. "You're out," you say decisively. "You're not at the table anymore. Can't trust you and that's the whole point of the fucking table. And what do you have to offer anyway?"

"Dave," Rose interrupts.

"No, fuck that." You turn to her. "I'm going to need a better reason to sit across from him while he's giving strategy advice we don't need than 'I trust him,' Rose, especially now that we know we can't."

Of course John has to talk. "You're just pissed that I make you morally uncomfortable. I think they might agree with me. Do you?" he asks Mark and Luke.

Rose makes a sound like she wants to cut in and tell you both off, but she throws her hands up. "Luke, Mark? Opinions?"

“I didn’t think ‘who’s at the table’ was this big of a deal,” Mark says openly.

Jesus. You throw your hands up. "We're doing strategy, it matters -- "

"Dave," Luke interrupts. You look at him, and decide to shut up for a second. "He's been building a strategy with Rose for a while now, around when we started ours, if not before. Just because he's not medical or engineering doesn't mean he has nothing to offer."

"What do you have to offer?" John asks you, sarcastically whatever.

That's it, you've drawn your sword and strife is inevitable, and you weren't planning on hitting him right away if at all, but you don't get a chance anyway; Rose flicks your sword off of her needles, cramming it back into your face lightly, and gives you a measured look you can't begin to read.

"He's with me," she says to John, then looks at you again, that one look in her eye that makes you feel like she can see not what you're thinking but what you are, how you are, cut it into pieces, and look at it like scientists look at dead animal parts to examine for their usefulness, and be sad or proud or both at what she finds.

It's a big thought and a big moment but it all happens in about five seconds, max, and you sheathe your sword in order to do anything but look at her and her fucking face. "Don't hold another goddamn thing back," you say, calmly, probably actually calmly this time, and leave.

Mark and Luke leave after you, but you ignore them, going back to your room silently.

You finish with the laptop. You ignore anything that goes through your head -- anything, everything. You lay down and go to sleep.

(You don't dream of her. Which is fine. You don't want those dreams anyway.)

\--  
_January 2004_

It's 2004. Your first New Year outside of captivity.

Yay.

John has his arm slung around your waist; you'll wake him up if you move. There are things you could do, probably endless things, but right now you just want to think.

Too many pieces. The biological experiments, the signal, Imperiacorp, the gastroresearch you'd heard about and found graphic details on in the records, the endless money that she couldn't be making from BCCorp alone. It hasn’t come together yet. You’ve been at this for less than a year, less than six months, and no one could expect that you would, but it would still have been great if beyond all odds it had made sense and a straightforward plan would fall into place.

It may never fall into place. But you need a specific plan, _one_ specific plan, and that’s been the problem.

Your HUBTOPBAND chirps on the bedside table, not loudly, but loudly enough, and John shifts beside you. You sigh, and slip away from him. “Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t count on it.” He shifts up slightly, still half-asleep. “Have to ask you something.”

You know better. “It’s too early for this.”

“Rose.” He touches your arm. You send him an acquiescing look, and he pauses. “Why do you even let me sleep here?”

That’s not the real question he’s asking. You don’t particularly want to answer either of them. “I assume being raised without human contact has made me starved for human touch. That may have something to do with it. Do you want your glasses?”

He sighs raggedly, and you hand his glasses off to him. The HUBTOPBAND chirps again. “Are you going to answer that?” he asks.

“Eventually,” you say.

“What if it’s important?”

“Anyone who has my Pesterchum handle is somewhere in this building, John. It can’t be that important.” This is a stupid conversation. All of these conversations are stupid. “Fine. Go on.”

John stops cleaning his glasses and looks up at you, startled. “What?”

You raise your eyebrows, making every effort to be as reasonable during this conversation as possible. “Are we going to avoid discussing this until I’m eighteen?”

He puts his glasses on, and shakes his head, shifting back against the headboard. “Doesn’t have to be like that,” he says. “I’m here. I told you that. I’m here until you can tell me to go, really tell me to go.”

“But you want it to be like that,” you say.

“I realized when I fucked up not saying anything about the -- the -- “ He doesn’t even want to talk about it now. “That you have your priorities and I don’t stand a chance against that and besides, yeah, you’re seventeen and I’m _twenty-three_ and I shouldn’t be doing anything anyway, with anyone, I have no clue what’s going to happen, if I’m going to do something fucked up, I already know there are definitely situations where I will, and I never want to hurt you, or anyone else, but not you, Rose, god.”

You wish he’d be this emotive in front of other people. They all think you have a cold-blooded killer on a leash. “You really think you’d hurt people?”

“ _Rose_ \-- ” It looks like he’s in physical pain from just talking about it. “When there’s blood, when we were in strife against Imperiacorp, even, sometimes I... fuck that’s embarrassing, I don’t want to be some overdramatic obsessive whatever, it’s just sometimes with blood, I want to... I can’t help it. But it’s _just sometimes_ , but that’s enough. I’ve done it, I’ve -- I killed one of them, at Maryland, and his blood, just -- Jesus Christ. Look, I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

You need to stay your emotional distance, but you touch his elbow in comfort. “But you’re still coming to sleep with me at night,” you say, pressing him gently.

“Doesn’t feel right, sleeping alone.” He’s just looking at you for a moment, then looks across the room, probably just to look at anything but you. “And, yeah.”

You withdraw your hand. There’s other things you could do, but decisions have to be made and you have your priorities, like he said. “Why did you even bring it up?” you ask, putting on the HUBTOPBAND.

“I was hoping you’d be honest,” John says.

You put the visor up. “Sorry?” you ask, trying not to sound as incredulous as you want to and probably failing.

He’s reaching for the Winspecs in his hoodie. “It’s fine, talk to him.”

You could smack him. You lower the visor again and project out the keyboard.

> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 6:31 --
> 
> TG: hey
> 
> TG: let me know when youre done cuddling

Actually, you don’t know who you’re angrier at right now.

> TT: Why are you both so petty? 
> 
> TT: It’s been weeks. Over a month. 
> 
> TT: We have bigger things to discuss. 
> 
> TG: just giving you shit rose
> 
> TG: like you give to me about ruby
> 
> TT: The difference there is that you are actually dating her. 
> 
> TG: not dating
> 
> TT: That was a little quick. Any reason for that? 
> 
> TG: still not doing a psych session with you
> 
> TT: Why aren’t you dating her? 
> 
> TG: why arent you dating him
> 
> TT: I would say you have been participating in 100% more physical displays of affection than I have. 
> 
> TT: That might have something to do with it. 
> 
> TG: technically
> 
> TG: he is hanging all over you
> 
> TG: all the time
> 
> TG: maybe im making out with ruby or something
> 
> TG: but hes dying to make out with you or something
> 
> TG: kind of mean to lead him on lalonde
> 
> TG: just saying
> 
> TG: smack his nose with a newspaper or do it already
> 
> TT: I’m done with both of you. 
> 
> TT: I was going to come talk to you about important things but it always comes down to this bullshit. 
> 
> TT: Why don’t you just make out with your non-girlfriend today while Luke and I work on the whole saving the world thing? 
> 
> TT: I know you have it in you to be really good at this, 
> 
> TT: To flourish under pressure. 
> 
> TT: But you’re letting petty interpersonal issues get in the way and that’s not like you. 
> 
> TG: wow christ wait a second let me answer
> 
> TG: did you have a fight with john

You pause, then scroll up on the conversation. You close your eyes and facepalm.

“Everything good over there?” John asks.

This is infuriating and embarrassing and you just want to rewind the day and make the opposite choices for the most part. “Everything is great,” you say, and look at the pesterlog again.

> TT: Yes. 
> 
> TT: I stand by that I think the two of us could be doing a lot more than we currently are. 
> 
> TT: We need to talk this through. Just the two of us. 
> 
> TG: why
> 
> TG: why just the two of us
> 
> TG: we let them call us generals
> 
> TG: but why
> 
> TG: why are we in charge
> 
> TG: we dont know more than they do
> 
> TG: not really
> 
> TT: We do. 
> 
> TT: And Jade chose us for this. 
> 
> TT: There has to be a reason. 
> 
> TG: she said we were special
> 
> TG: thats what you said
> 
> TT: Yes. 
> 
> TT: Jade put all of her efforts into Skaianet, 
> 
> TT: Into doing what she could to challenge the batterwitch. 
> 
> TT: She gave us things and people to work with. 
> 
> TT: Hmm. 
> 
> TT: Do you want to have this conversation here, or in the same room? 
> 
> TG: want to go on the roof
> 
> TT: We shouldn’t. 
> 
> TG: but do you want to

Maybe you do.

> TT: I’ll meet you there.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 6:42 --

You pull off the HUBTOPBAND and look to John, who's reading something and taking notes with his projected keyboard. You move beside him and pull the Winspecs down just slightly on his face to get his attention. He looks at you, surprised. “What?”

You don’t know what to say, or do. You’re not sure why you did this. Your hand’s by his leg, and you pull back, but he takes it. “Rose,” he starts.

“I’m sorry.” You move to leave but he’s not letting go of your hand. “John -- ”

“Fine.” He releases your hand. “Later.” He puts his Winspecs back on.

You go, throw a coat on over your pajamas, and climb up the stairs all the way to the roof. Dave’s perched there with his laptop, a document of some kind open on his screen, and he glances back at you as you sit beside him.

“Nice pajamas,” he says breezily.

“We need to talk,” you say, ignoring that. “Remember?”

“Be good to talk,” he agrees, and scrolls through to the end of the file before closing the laptop and captchaloguing it again. “You were fucking with Crockercorp. Right up in their faces. You want us to keep doing that, I guess?”

You pause. “I think we're capable of doing something direct that leaves a mark,” you say honestly. “You would rather... build something from the bottom up? Trust that we’ll be safe while we do nothing against her?”

“As opposed to going out of your way to fight them,” Dave says, deliberately, pushing his shades up. “By yourself. With those needles and your magic shit.”

Oh. That’s what he’s getting at. “I wouldn’t go by myself unless I really thought – who told you that I was even...“

“Oh Jesus fuck, you really _are_ , I just wanted to make sure you weren't all revenge-obsessed because all your shit so far is looking in-your-face-wind-up-dead," he says, already beside himself. "All of the raiding this and blueprints of that and probably bombs. You're going to kill some people if I'm not fucking careful, I can tell that."

"Dave." You don't find this funny.

He looks at you for a second, waiting for you to find something clever to say, but nothing comes to your mind and he just presses harder. "Is that really your strategy? ‘Fuck the rebellion I talked Dave into recruiting, I’m just going to stab the batterwitch in the face,’” he mocks your tone, apparently. “Or you’re going to use our people to formulate a plan, then sacrifice them to get close enough? And I’m here to protect them. Is that it? Some chess gambit?”

You take a deep breath. "So Ilya told you what we were discussing, that's, it's fine. I think we can flesh it out some more, but – but this bloodless planning you have in mind isn't going to work out and I don't know how to tell you this."

Dave looks severely like he wants to throw his laptop. He's as angry as you've ever seen him. “Rose," he says, forcing his tone reasonable, "if you think we can leave a mark on Crockercorp with one move you’re fucking insane and you know it. If you think _you_ can go up against her without her murdering you, then you’re even more insane, and I’m not going to let you do that shit again, you'd better know that.”

“I didn’t have a choice last time,” you say, irritated.

“Yeah, and now you would, and you shouldn’t,” he says, and he looks you in the face; it feels like a challenge, and you want to do all kinds of immature things in response. Then he keeps talking before you can do or say anything. “We need to come up with an _actual plan_ because going up against Crockercorp cold -- _at all_ \-- isn’t gonna fucking work.”

It is surprising how annoyed you are at the way this is going, but you couldn't have anticipated that Dave would start acting like he knows more than you do. “What do you suggest?” you say, perfectly calmly and not at all affected by him and his tone and the confrontation itself.

He pauses, clearly thoughtful. “We start something of our own.”

At least you’re on the same page. “That’s what I want -- ”

“You want us to start building something to attack them, that’s _not_ what I’m saying,” Dave argues. So much for that. You fight back against your face to keep it from looking crestfallen, which is a ridiculous reaction to all of this. Teenage. “Rose, for fuck’s sake. There’s nothing we can do, nothing like you’re wanting, not without losing people, maybe a lot of them.”

You shake your head at him. “We’re special, Dave, we can do this. I have my majjyks for a reason, I can get close, you haven’t seen. I can break through enemy lines, I can get what we need to get, I can figure out their weak points and get there so we can make a strike.”

He throws his hands up. “This is what I was saying! You’re so hung up on -- _striking_! What makes you think we can strike? What makes you think _you_ can strike?”

“I have and I will and we have to,” you snap at him.

“Will you survive it?” he retorts. “Because I want to save lives, Rose, I want to keep people alive, I don’t want to throw them away out of some -- misguided -- whatever.” There’s barely a pause, where you sink back despite yourself, and he says, “ _Rose._ ”

You can feel your face has gone pink, and you can feel the majjyk biting at your hands and down your arms. Can he see it? You make a point not to panic at the possibility. “I’m not wasting time or resources,” you say reasonably.

“Rose,” he repeats again, and reaches to touch your arm.

You yank away, standing. _It hurts._ But it’s fine. You feel like you’re being swallowed into the ground even though you’re standing still. But it’s fine, you know you’re fine. “You’re underestimating me. With what we know, Dave, with what we know now, there’s things we can do, we just need to pull it all together to know exactly what. And if you’d come with me, the two of us -- we can do anything, I really believe that, don’t roll your eyes, and I know you believe that, too, even if you won’t admit it.”

“Rose, I swear to fuck,” he interrupts you, shoving himself up to stand. “I don’t know what the hell it’s gonna take for you to hear this.”

He’s walking towards you. You back up, and it feels like you’re backing through a door, though you know you’re not, and there’s heat at your back, on your back. “I have a plan, you just have to give me time. All we have to do is exploit a weakness, the signal, probably, a-and once we do it’ll be -- “ Your voice is failing you. _Why?_ “I wish you’d wake up, you don’t understand -- “

“I’m trying to understand!” he snaps, then paces back, then towards you again. “You’re having a panic attack or something, fucking sit down.”

“I’m _fine_!” you shout at him, then stop dead, go silent, just tense and blank. You need a moment to collect yourself, to release this energy, to deal with the natural progression of this sort of confrontation and its results.

Dave’s gone still, too. There's something different in his expression. “Promise me you won’t fight her again if you can help it,” he says.

You will yourself to speak. “Not in my plans right now,” you say finally.

He doesn’t seem reassured by that. “Don’t go alone. I’ll go with you.”

You don’t react. You can’t. Slow breathing is making it go away, for the most part. “We figured this out, right?” you ask, in something possibly superficially resembling a joke.

He doesn’t find it funny, apparently. “Talk to me. All right?”

“Yes.” You nod, blindly, then you back up and abscond. You ignore Hana Verma and one of the newest recruits, and go back to your room, where John is still taking notes on one file or another.

“Hey,” he greets you.

You don’t say anything. You just sit next to him, silently, knee to knee, close enough but far enough for comfort.

He doesn't think twice about it. You have time to think, to focus. You can still feel the majjyk blazing quietly around you, through you, out of your fingertips. You watch your fingers and breathe.

_Help me. Help me find a way._

Are they listening?

You'll just have to wait for an answer.

\--

_February 2004_

Somehow things are starting to make sense. Or at least they might start making sense soon, because you and Rose aren't being fucking morons, at least most of the time.

That's all incredibly depressing put that way. It goes like this.

Rose does the information/intel thing. She does professory assignments and pulls shit together, and you're -- general you -- wait, not General you, either, but maybe? because you and Rose are supposedly generals, but what the fuck, actually, no, anyway. You're starting to get a vague idea of the whole many rainbow shades of fucked up shit Crockercorp is up to, even if the actual source of the sheer money behind it is still a mystery. There's a lot of theories is the point, but at least it's something. (It keeps Luis busy, if nothing else, and you're kind of glad he's not just sitting around bored knowing you're making out with his daughter.)

You, the specifically General Dave "awesome motherfucker" Strider you, are busy with the recruits. A month of bullshit looking at paperwork has mostly led them to talk to each other, start having sex like you knew they would, and come up with their own ideas. This still seems to be your job, and to be honest Rose would be fucking awful at it so it looks like you're stuck with it.

Not that it's so bad. It's not. These people are great.

"I was working on something," Tony Capello says. He's the newest recruit, along with his wife Anna, and originally he was a pain in the ass because he wanted a piano, which, really? But Anna is a badass, like a movie badass, unrealistically badass, like Bruce Willis would go "oh come on let's be fucking reasonable here" if she showed up shooting shit up, so you don't give a shit and you got him his piano. Anyway. "Looking things up online," he says. "We'd need to invest but it'd be easy. Subliminal messaging, Dave."

"Definitely had it in mind, yeah," you say. "We're not exactly flush with media to put 'fuck Betty Crocker' stickers all over, though, are we?"

"Oh, I love when I get to do this," Ruby exclaims, and leans into the room. "Hi." She grins at you.

You are totally reasonable and unaffected and you put major effort into not being even passably stupid. "Hi," you greet her. "I'm doing a thing right now."

"Idiot," she says fondly. "I'm part of the thing. I got to come in at the perfect time and you ruined it with assuming I'm here to be all sweet on you. Do you really think that, Strider?"

"No," you say, totally cool and not at all caught off-guard. "I want to know about the thing?" That wasn't supposed to be a question, but your mouth decided it was going to be one. Sometimes you really dislike your mouth. "So back to the thing."

"Your -- " Tony stops, and Ruby looks away innocently when you look over to check out why. He goes on quickly. "Ruby. She can sing, and play, but both or either would be good for -- "

"What is that face?" Ruby interrupts, dropping to the ground across from you. Then you realize she's talking to you because your face did something because this was sort of out of nowhere, and she sees you realize that it did, and you wish it was at all cool to facepalm, but it doesn't seem to matter because you kind of wind up doing it anyway. "I'm trying to be useful," she explains. "In a long-term, not-gunplay way. Tony says I'm good, I wouldn't have even -- "

"Could be better. If we're putting subliminal messaging in, it won't matter much," Tony reasons.

"That part might have been unnecessary," Ruby says wryly.

"We can't just do this," you point out. "To even get you safely out and visible, it's not like Crockercorp forgot about you and your dad, we'd have to figure out what to put in as the damn message, and I'm just saying, I'm not shooting this down, just hold your goddamn horses." You barely pause. "Who doesn't hold onto horses if they're moving fast and pulling you or whatever? I mean it sounds like you're letting go of the horse leash thing when they're running then you run over some people and I guess that's the whole point because otherwise it'd be 'hold your horses, or don't, who gives a fuck.'"

"Dave," Ruby says patiently.

"'Horse leash'?" Tony says.

"I don't know," you say, dismissing it in as casual a way as possible. "Work on it, music, I, uh." No, you are not going to -- oh, what the fuck, you have near unlimited funds, and a rebellion you're running. You've earned this. "I can help. Later. In the production process." You get to mix beats. Epic. "Let me know what you need. Yeah?"

They nod. Ruby is looking at you, all questioning, and you shrug, standing. She follows you. You're not really thinking about it; you're thinking about where to go next. You look up slowly, towards the roof.

"She's not here," Ruby says.

"Where is she?"

"Don't know."

So maybe you've been trying to think the best. She isn’t always disappearing like this, and that’s a goddamn upgrade, but when she does, you usually think the worst, all because she was on fire with her magic shit and couldn't promise, probably couldn't have kept a promise even if she'd made it.

You won’t know until it happens. You know that.

"Is there anything I can do?" Ruby asks.

You shake your head. "No. Maybe.” You pause. “Actually. See if Mark is here."

"Where the hell would Mark go that isn’t here?"

"Just go look, I have a feeling." You take out your laptop and settle in on the couch, wasting no time. She musses your hair as she moves past you to leave the condo.

> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 5:14 --
> 
> TG: where did you go
> 
> TG: you think i dont notice
> 
> TG: im not fucking stupid
> 
> TG: rose
> 
> TG: if youre not answering because youre in danger
> 
> TG: were supposed to be working together
> 
> TG: you said wed go together
> 
> TG: jesus
> 
> TG: you know what fuck this

This is not going to end well, but, again, fuck it.

> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering lostStories [LS] at 5:17 --
> 
> TG: where the fuck are you
> 
> LS: I didn't realize you cared so much about me, Dave.
> 
> TG: yeah yeah all that bullshit
> 
> TG: where are you
> 
> LS: Guess if Rose wanted you to know where we were she would have told you.
> 
> TG: you realize im a teenager and youre being less mature than me
> 
> LS: I think there's an argument to be made either way.
> 
> LS: We're busy and you're interrupting. We'll talk when we get back. Until then, be patient.
> 
> LS: The less focused we are, the more at risk we are.
> 
> TG: try not being at risk and talking first theres an idea
> 
> LS: Stop talking.

You've already had fucking enough from this asshole.

> TG: your purse dog needs to learn to shut the fuck up
> 
> TT's HUBTOPBAND exploded.

You slam your laptop shut, maybe a little too hard, and try not to have what some people might mistakenly call a panic attack.

“Talking to John?” Mark asks from the doorway.

This is a subject you’ve grown to vividly hate, especially because there’s bigger shit going on almost always when it’s brought up, including that Rose’s computer just exploded around her face or something, but here you are, hearing this shit.

“We’re going to the kitchen, starting dinner, and you’re telling me what the fuck Rose is having you do, because I know she’s not stupid enough to just run off wherever she’s gone without any planning and you have been suspiciously goddamn quiet,” you say, and captchalogue your laptop. “And I swear to fuck the next person who brings up that prick is eating the frozen leftovers without using the fucking microwave.”

“Ouch,” Ruby says, in a tone of pure, if wry, admiration.

“Yeah I’m an astounding leader of men or something." Now it's getting to you. "Fuck. Move," you snap, and they finally look worried before going, never mind that you haven't told them shit.

They head into the kitchen before you, and you park at the table, taking your laptop out again. "Mark, help her with dinner. I'll be with you in a minute."

> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering lostStories [LS] at 5:23 --
> 
> TG: so roses computer headband blew up
> 
> TG: could use an all clear on that

Nothing. You stare at the screen. Ruby and Mark are quietly discussing the night's menu. You thought now that Rose was here this wouldn't happen again, but here you are, same shit playing out again, secrets, lies, and John there just to piss you off.

> TG: dont be a dick
> 
> TG: answer
> 
> TG: eventually
> 
> TG: need to know what we should prep for
> 
> LS: She's fine. Just needed some time.
> 
> LS: Might need some time with Luke for the superficial stuff, but nothing so bad.
> 
> TG: she was wearing it
> 
> LS: Yeah.
> 
> TG: how the fuck
> 
> LS: Complicated.
> 
> TG: make it simple
> 
> LS: We'll be home soon. We got what we came for.
> 
> TG: dont fucking log off on me
> 
> \-- lostStories [LS] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 5:26 --

You are totally fine, which is why you react to Ruby touching you, her arms around you, because everything is fine and there's no need for that, in front of Mark especially. "What," you say.

"Shut up," she says, and kisses your temple. "Everything is fine."

"She's -- " No. This is between you and Rose. Again. You relax against Ruby. "Just sounded bad. Worse than it is."

"Do you want to know what Rose has me working on, or is this domestic bliss I'm standing in the middle of?" Mark asks.

"I'm not in the mood, Mark," you say calmly, and Ruby moves back to the stove, checking on the pan of pasta sauce. "Why are you taking orders from her?"

Mark raises his eyebrows. "I thought she was also my boss. Are we split between you?"

Shit. This is so fucking stupid and petty, all of it. Too bad Rose didn't get that memo. "No, and you know that. I didn't know about it and you know that too. So, tell me."

"It's the Crockercorp device I'm building. The chipset is pretty average except there's one chip I can't..." Mark puts his hands up. "I've never seen it and neither has anyone else, outside of Crockercorp, as far as I can tell. But it's for an antenna. A very weird antenna."

"What does that have to do with her running off?" you ask, blank. "Jesus. She's not stealing from them, is she? Why do we even want -- " It's probably an intricate part of the biggest, stupidest plan she could come up with. You're starting to get a headache, but at least a computer didn't explode around your face. "Do you know what she's planning?"

Mark shakes his head. “All I know is she’s been plotting out Crockercorp locations on a map. But this is good, Dave. We need to know more if we want to -- ”

This is all coming together, sort of, but part of you, the part of you that’s winning, wants to hear it from Rose, so you shove it back. “Thanks,” you say, cutting him off, and clear your throat, because your voice is being _fucking stupid_. “We’ll figure it out.”

Ruby clears her throat the next second, then leans against the fridge. “Dave, I’m tired of being the girl making food here, you get your ass up and cook.”

“I’m... doing things,” you point out.

“You get up here, I’ll check the channel. I can pretend to be you,” she says, and if you didn’t know she was joking you _really_ wouldn’t be able to tell she was joking. “Or you won’t let me on there because you have porn, right?”

Mark audibly loses his shit, and you shoot him a dirty look. “No,” you say to all of it. You wish you could be distracted, but you can't, and you can’t just go, because it’ll look like things are really fucked up, which they aren’t, you’re just reacting to some specific things, and those specific things aren’t so bad, apparently, maybe, but you’re just stuck in your own head and you need to get over it, even if it is serious. Mostly.

“Shit,” you say. You don’t know how long you paused, there, or if anyone said anything, because your head is incredibly loud with all of the thinking and not-panic and the strain of all the stress. Then you get up, silently, and grab your coat to pull it on before you walk outside.

The courtyard is quiet. You sit down heavily in a patio chair, and lean back as far as you can without sliding out of the chair, pushing your shades right up against your face and tuning everything out.

You wake up instantly, your hand on the hilt of your sword, and you might have been asleep but at least you woke up.

“Guess I’m not tapping on your shoulder then,” John says from behind you, and tries out a smile when you look back at him.

You hate this day. Not that it matters. “Where is she?”

“She wanted me to come get you. She’s with Luke, like I said she would be.” He’s looking at you, still. You wish he’d just go, but he’s not going to leave you alone until you go to Rose, and then you’ll probably have to physically pry him off of Rose’s hand when you need time alone with her. “It’s fine, Dave.”

“Huh,” you say. It feels like your only diplomatic option.

He hesitates. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick. We don’t agree, I get that. But this is pissing Rose off, so -- ”

“If you’re going to stop being such an asshole, then yeah, we can sort of get along,” you say, “but as long as you’re doing the shit you are and pretending like Rose is the only one in charge I’m going to have a problem with you.” You push yourself up out of the chair. “I’ll find her.”

You get three steps past him, then he says, "Dave, just, one second." You stop, look back at him, and he looks at you expectantly for a second, but you don't move, so he sighs and adds, "It's about Rose. Something you want to hear. Something she wouldn't want me to tell you. All right?"

He's capable of disobeying Rose? This isn't an opportunity you want to waste. You go past him with a quick gesture for him to follow you, and take a seat. You look at him when he sits across from you with your own expectant look.

John takes a breath, releases it, and says, "The majjyk is affecting her."

"What, the random outbursts of it when she freaks out? Yeah, I noticed that," you say, unable to keep from being a little sarcastic.

"No. Well, yes," he says, "but all of it's affecting her. In some ways I'm just guessing at, but there's a lot of proof that she's... she's losing control of it. In a serious way. Her computer exploded while she was using it, I mean, the powers, full-bore flames, she was babbling and out of it, then she freaked out a little and, boom, and she was out for around two minutes and babbled for a while after, too."

You breathe normally, swallow, and say, "Yeah, that's not good." Because you can draw that conclusion and not be fine with it, because it's fucked up, but accept it, and be fine yourself, yeah.

He looks really strained. For a split second you wonder if you look like that, because you maybe feel like that. "Yeah. There's little things, too. Well, less... explosion-based things. Have you even heard the babbling?"

You look at him. "...Like the obnoxious psychobabble?"

"Apparently not." John sighs. "Like the stuff that sounds like another very throaty language. It doesn't happen often but it's starting to happen more and it's always after she uses it for a long time. The majjyk happens when she's asleep, sometimes," he says, "and -- what? Oh, fuck, can we not right now?"

You guess your face spoke for you. "You haven't had sex with her, have you?" you ask, and, goddamnit, you didn't _want_ to ask but you probably had to, really.

"I have not had sex with Rose," John says; he looks very fucking done with this conversation, so you're letting it go, with some relief of your own. " _Anyway_. Yeah. In her sleep. I don't know what that means but I have a theory. Then there's the, uh. The grey."

"The grey," you repeat, blank and prompting.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and says, "I'll suggest you ask her about it once she's done with Luke. I've been trying to convince her to have him look at it, but I'm not sure he'll have any better idea what to do about it than we will."

So it's medical, or plausibly, and you want to bitch at John, but you want to talk about Rose about all of it and fuck it. "What's your theory?"

He pauses, like he's not sure he really wants to say it, but does anyway. "Wherever the majjyk comes from is talking to her in her dreams."

You freeze up at the mention of dreams, apparently visibly, because he obviously notices. Whatever. "What's your angle with this?" you ask.

There's a long pause, a genuinely long one, before John speaks again. "She isn't going to stop. We could use your help."

"Why can't she stop? I mean, you don't want her to, but she _could_ \-- "

"She's not going to. I second-guessed recently, and she pushed me into it, and she was right -- but she's not going to stop, Dave, that's the point. The sooner you get the memo on that, the easier it'll be to keep her safe."

Yeah, this is starting to irritate you again. "Or we could have a -- "

"We don't know if this shit is killing her," John cuts you off with. "Or if she needs time to recover and she's not using that time to recover because she's pushing so hard and it might kill her, which, maybe the grey is a sign of that? You'll see, I don't know. Or if maybe whatever's happening in her dreams is making her do this and once it's done she'll be safe and we won't have to fight about this anymore. No matter what, I don't know why you won't support her -- "

"I support her as a person," you say. "Doesn't mean I have to support her ideas or plans." But what he's saying is sinking in. "Fuck. _Fuck._ " You force the chair back as you sit up. "Yeah. John. Thanks." You barely look at him before you turn around and head into the house.

You're at the door of Luke's room within a minute, nothing before that matters, they're people you're responsible for but this is more important right now. It's kind of so important you can't touch the doorknob and you're just frozen and staring.

Why are these things scarier than Crockercorp in their way? You'll never know.

You open the door.

Rose looks back at you right away from where she sits on Luke's bed, but Luke moves her head back to him, where he's applying a thin bandage to her forehead, needle and thread on the bed beside her. "That took longer than I expected," she says, her voice strange in a way you can't put your finger on. "Did you fight with him?"

"Sort of," you say. "He's trying to behave. Glad you're finally training him."

"Are you trying to behave, Dave?" Rose asks, in that very Rose style of sarcasm, but something's still off. You realize it sounds forced.

"I'm trying to not get pissed off about not knowing what's going on, that's what I am," you say, direct but not in an asshole way. "So what's going on?"

"Is this the time?" Luke asks mildly, and opens another bandage.

You don't fucking know. "Is she okay?" you ask him in answer.

"Everything I can see is superficial," Luke says.

Rose tilts her head at him. "You're reading me? I think you are."

"It's not something I can turn off." Luke seems uncomfortable. "I won't say anything if you do. All right?"

There's silence in the room and you don't know what's happening, but then Rose says, "Tell me what you hear."

Luke shrugs, then, still stiff, but talks. "It's not what I'm hearing now, it's what I heard when you came in. You were unconscious but I heard something. I've heard it before. I heard it in New York when they were unloading us, right before I escaped."

"What did you hear?" Rose asks, calm, as though this isn't ominous as hell. 

"It's dark. It feels wrong. Tastes wrong. I know it sounds insane. But it doesn't feel human." Luke kind of looks like he wants to puke, but he's holding it together. "Jade told me you'd all have something out there helping you. I thought she meant the stuff she left for you. I'm starting to think she meant something else."

"You think aliens are helping Rose?" you ask. It helps to voice it instead of just being stuck with _um holy shit_ in your brain.

Rose is conspicuously silent. You clear your throat and she looks back around at you with an expression on her face that you can't read, but you're starting to get the impression that Rose only uses expressions like that to hide her bullshit. "If they were, what would that mean to you?" she asks.

"Fuck you," you say, not as harshly as you could. "This isn't the fucking time. Luke, are you done?"

"I'm done," Luke says. 

He might be lying to get you out of there. You don't care. "Rose, come on." You could pace for hours; it's an incredible effort to stay still. She isn't moving. "Rose, Jesus -- "

She pushes herself up and turns, bandages on her face and looking all pale and washed out, and you're stuck thinking how much you hate the lies, because none of this is okay. You turn around before your face does anything without your permission and leave the room, heading to your condo without thinking about it.

"We could go to the roof," she says from behind you.

You don't answer, fling open the door, and go into your room, immediately kicking a magazine or two under your bed. Barely anyone comes in here anyway. "Close the door," you tell her, like she wouldn't.

She closes the door and looks at you, intently. "The Crockercorp antenna needed a chip. We were looking for it."

Okay, diving right in. Cool. "Stealing from the enemy, that's great, you could have led them back here, you realize that?"

"We didn't," Rose says simply.

"I love when you're sure about things you can't be sure about, it's so comforting," you say. "Why?" You're pissed off now, apparently. You don't remember when that started.

"When we knock out the signal in New York City, we can replace it. We just need to understand the technology first," Rose explains.

"Wait wait wait," you interrupt quickly. "How do you know the signal is New York City?"

Rose smiles. You're instantly more pissed off and queasy in a way you don't want to think about. "It's something of an inference. It's where the chips are from. It's the headquarters for the company. John used to work there, and he took a look at the blueprints we have of the building and pointed out some idiosyncrasies -- things most workers weren't allowed to see. One thing is on one blueprint and not on another, which makes me think they're trying to hide it from everyone. Where else would the main signal be coming from, really? What else are they hiding?"

You don't even know how to respond. "Rose," you start, then you drop your face into your hands. " _Rose_." You speak into your hands. "Tell me you're not planning on blowing up that building."

There's silence again. That's enough of an answer. "Jesus Christ," you say. "What are you thinking?" There's a pause, then you lift your head, remembering. _It could be killing her._ "If I tell you no, if I say you're not using anything we have or bringing any of our people, what then?"

Rose looks completely calm and still paper-thin. "I try to only do things worth doing. I don't know why you can't see that this is. Get rid of their signal, boost our own. We could have them do it worldwide -- all over the country -- we have that ability. Why would we not do that?"

"Because all the batterwitch has to do is hit the big red button and Imperiacorp kills everyone they see," you retort, then look away and force yourself to breathe. You try to focus. John's words are fucking haunting you. _She's your best friend._ You can't just let her die. 

"John told me about the grey," you say. "I want to see."

Rose immediately moves, but away from you, not towards. "What did he say?"

"He's worried about you. I am, too. Especially knowing what you've been keeping quiet." You so desperately don't want to talk about this, but too fucking bad; it all needs saying. "Show me."

She doesn't move for a long pause, but then she comes towards you as you look up at her again. She tugs the shoulder of her shirt aside, but hesitates. "It's... not easily visible there."

"It's somewhere else, too?" You haven't even seen anything and you're already really fucking concerned. " _Show me_."

"Dave," she says, warning. There's color in her face again, but probably not in the good way. Then she bites her lip and pulls her shirt up in the back. "It goes all the way up."

Her skin is grey, or there's a thick streak of grey up her back, apparently all the way to her shoulders. Before you think, you're touching it, your hand to her bare skin, and... it doesn't feel weird, at least her skin doesn't, the moment is weird but it's just a color change in her skin. Not that it isn't fucking worrying. She's looking back at you, and you don't pull your hand away, holding her gaze.

"This shit could be killing you," you say quietly.

"Give me a reason to stop."

That's easy. "People will die."

She shrugs; you feel it in your hand. "People are already dying, at least we'll have achieved something."

You withdraw your hand, and back up. "You're not worried about…"

She pulls her shirt down. "No," she says easily.

"If you weren't worried, you would have mentioned it."

"You were going to worry. John did," she points out.

You scratch your head. "Yeah, about that, how did he -- "

"We haven't," Rose says instantly. "Not anything. He just stays in my room sometimes, you know that, and I didn't realize he was awake when he saw me -- _anyway_ , this is hardly the point."

It's an effort to not start a fight with her about John, because that would be more comfortable than what you actually need to discuss. Unfortunately, you're going to have to just fucking push through it. "What's the point?" you say. Your head is fuzzy and your shoulders hurt; you don't want to think too hard about this; too fucking bad. "Is it that I need to follow you on this, whatever, in this crazy-ass plan?"

Rose shifts. "I -- "

You're not done. "Are aliens helping you? Is someone telling you to -- "

"You have to trust that I know this is the right thing to do," she interrupts you in turn. "You have to believe me."

"I -- " You shake your head. "Shit." That was as good as a yes, honestly. "Whatever you're holding back. When this is done, you have to tell me everything." You look up at her again, then tense as she sits next to you. "...I'm only doing this because I think you're going to get yourself killed," you say. "And you're not going to fucking die by their hands if I can say a damn thing about it."

Rose smiles, if thinly. "We can work on your ideas, too," she says. "Fill the void of the missing signal with something else. I'm not against it. I just needed your support in this larger project. So... thank you for listening. No matter your reasons."

You could be sick all over the ground in front of you. You're compromised enough that you're even willing to acknowledge that. But if there's even a chance you can stop that grey from spreading, those majjyk flames from growing, if you can stop her from running into the most dangerous building in the country, possibly in the world, all alone, you're going to do it.

You swallow; your throat feels raw. "Yeah," you say. "No problem. Whatever."

You can't smile. She doesn't say anything about it, just says, "Let's go get something to eat."

As you head downstairs, you're thinking about death, just death, for the first time in a while. You're trying to remember a time when your dad pulling a knife on you was your biggest problem, and it's so far back that you can hardly believe that was your life less than a year ago. You're trying to be okay.

You can't eat. You find Ruby and just let her talk about her father's writing on the gastroresearch, on all of the names he's looked into and the grotesque details, and it's close enough to real but far enough from Rose that it works, for now, to keep you sane.

Soon, it'll just be a mission. But you need some distance today.

\--

_April 2004_

Things are falling into place.

First, Dave's been hyperfocused on his subliminal messaging for the last month. He's almost as single-minded as you are, and you can't help but admire that. The last experiment managed to get Mark to eat bananas, which he finds abhorrent, without even really noticing; it's promising. The next one is supposed to be bigger, but you haven't heard details, yet.

You immediately look for him when you get in. He's camped out on the roof again with his laptop, comfortable in the spring weather, when you find him and sit next to him.

"You should alchemize a new computer," you say.

Dave shakes his head. "I'm fine with this."

"It won't help when we go. You need something you can move around with." You poke him in the leg of the shades, and he shies away. "How about combining with these?"

"I don't know," he says. "But, yeah. Sure."

"It works for John," you point out. He makes a face. "Stop it," you chide him.

"I still don't fucking know," he says.

"Well, trust me," you say. His expression changes again, and you can't read it, but a change that happened when you said that kind of can't mean anything but the obvious. " _Dave._ You can trust me."

"So we did another experiment while you were gone," he says, ignoring what you said  
completely, apparently. "I didn't want to do something so extreme, but we have to know we can make an impact."

"What did you do, who did you do it on?" you prompt him.

He taps his keyboard gently, obviously not wanting to answer. "It got Ruby to put a gun to her head."

You pause, genuinely not knowing how to respond to that. "Did she mind?"

"No," he says; he looks incredibly uncomfortable. "She's cool. All of you are. No holding back. We need to achieve something. I get that."

"You're just doing this on my account," you deduce. He says nothing. "Because you think I'm going to die. Is that right?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "That's not the only reason I'm doing this."

You accept that answer. "You think you're ready to do something bigger?"

"Yeah," he says. "But I don't know what to use."

You smile. "Your comics."

He's surprised. "What?"

" _Your comics._ All you have to do is put subliminal messaging in your comics, then artificially promote them. Have you really not thought of this before?"

"Don't be smug," he says. "But yeah, okay. Artificially promoting them might be hard, though -- "

"There's got to be a way to get someone big to notice and promote them; a subliminal message to make them look, even," you say. "If you can get them to watch something..."

"I know who to e-mail," Dave says, "it's just I don't know if he'll click. Whatever. All I need is one look at the first page. Fuck, I need to do more drawing."

"Shouldn't take you longer than ten minutes," you say dryly, and he almost, sort of, smiles. You try not to look as thrilled as you are at that; he's seemed miserable and stressed out nonstop for the last two weeks. "Are you ready?"

He freezes, his smile fading a little. "No," he says honestly. "But I haven't been ready for any of this shit, so, no big change there."

"You need to get the subliminal messaging in Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff done tonight," you say, "and -- "

"How did you know the name?" he cuts you off with. "I haven't even really shown you." He looks troubled.

"You think I didn't look?" You dismiss it, your heartbeat stammering with nerves. _Damn it._ "You did post the first two pages. Anyway, get it done tonight."

He looks at you skeptically. "That's going to take -- "

"Just get it done," you interrupt. "It took us this long to get ready, tomorrow we move out, we need something to support the cause, and -- "

"We could wait," he interrupts you in turn. "We could do this in a month, wait for Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff to get big or whatever."

"It'll bring attention to you," you say.

"How would they know it's me?" he points out.

"They'd know." You're not sure you want to get into it. "Trust me. Don't get that look on your face, I need you to trust my instincts on this."

"Is this a Jade thing?" he asks directly. You pause. "Yeah, I thought so," he goes on. "She saw my shitty art? She knew I'd get famous? Holy shit, does the batterwitch know this shit too?"

"She knows things," you acknowledge. "I don't want to run the risk. We need to strike. You know that." He doesn't look at you. " _Dave_ \-- "

"Stop _Dave_ -ing me," he says, sounding incredibly frustrated, at least for him. "Jesus fucking Christ. Maybe this freaks me out. I don't see the future. I don't know these things. I don't know half of the shit you do, and maybe you could actually bother telling me sometimes. It's like you know everything but you just give me a trail of breadcrumbs and expect me to believe you that one of those crumbs down the line isn't incredibly important and that I don't need to know it now. You could tell me everything, right? But you're never fucking going to."

You feel sick, guilty, stricken, like an idiot. You know you're approaching this the right way, but that doesn't change this. "It's complicated," you try.

"What's so complicated?" he presses. "Does it get in the way of the master 'kill the batterwitch' plan you have going? Or what? What if I told you I didn't give a shit?"

"You -- " _You would give a shit._ You don't say that. "You're really overestimating what I'm keeping secret," you say instead.

"It's just really fucking hard to trust you when you're acting like this," he says. "Do you get that?"

"You've made it abundantly clear you have a hard time trusting me," you say dryly.

"And there's an easy fix. Just tell me shit."

You don't know what to do. You genuinely don't. It's an unsettling feeling. You stand up and pace forward, standing still, facing away from him. "After tomorrow," you say. "Get it done tonight if you can, or have the others work on it while we're going. Work through the night if you have to."

"I might need sleep," he says, a bit sarcastically. "What with raiding the biggest Crockercorp facility in the goddamn country tomorrow."

"Have them work on it," you say in a bit of a snap, then glance back. He's just staring at you. "You can get this done."

"Fine," he says. There's something hard in his expression. You try not to let the guilt prick at you, but it does. "You do what you have to do, I'll do the same."

"Dave -- "

"I told you not to fucking _Dave_ me," he says, and looks back down at his computer. "We're good."

You don't believe that for a second. "Fine," you say, and go without further comment.

John is waiting at the foot of the stairs for you, leaning against the wall. "How long have you been waiting here?" you ask him.

"Only about five minutes." He shrugs and stands straight. "Everything good?"

"Everything's good." The two of you head through the door and towards your room. "I almost wish you hadn't told Dave about the majjyk."

"He needed to know. He'd never have supported what we were doing if he didn't." John gives you a pointed look. "You keep too many secrets."

"I'm not keeping secrets from you," you say, "so I'm not sure why you care."

"You are," he says. "I know you are, there's no point in lying to me. You won't say why Dave's involved, you won't tell me why you're so intent on fighting Crockercorp, why it's so personal -- and it _is_ personal -- "

"She raised me," you say simply, maybe a little tartly, and he stops while you keep walking. You open the door to your bedroom and leave it open for him to follow.

John enters the room, shuts the door behind him. " _You were raised by the batterwitch_?" he repeats, demanding.

"Yes," you say serenely. "So it's personal. Any other complaints?"

"What about Dave?" he prompts, but he doesn't seem to be over that first revelation yet. "How does he fit into it?"

"I'll tell you that eventually," you say. "Not now. Not with what we have to work on." You turn around. "I need you to check to see if it's spread."

"It's probably spread," he says. You shrug and pull your shirt off, and there's a stretch of silence, maybe five seconds, and he comes towards you to look. He touches your back, between your shoulders; his hand is cool. "It has. It's…"

"How bad is it?" you ask, measured.

John doesn't answer for a moment, just slides his hand down your back slowly, then around you, arm around your waist and moving close to you. He's incredibly close to you, and you're still nearly half-naked, and your heart jumps to your throat. His mouth brushes your neck in a kiss and you freeze, uncertain but maybe not as uncertain as you want to be.

"John," you say again, and your voice wavers, which you resent. There's nothing worth wavering over.

"I need this to be over," he says into your neck; you can feel his breath warm there. "I need you to be safe and away from this shit."

"It's never going to happen, John," you say, and swallow hard; your hand drops to John's that rests on your stomach. "Not the way you're thinking."

"You don't know what I'm thinking," he says fiercely; he knits his fingers with yours. "Your safety's all I ever wanted. And this is eating away at you, and you can't see it, I get that. But I'll do whatever I have to do, I just need you to believe me, and to be careful."

"It's fine," you tell him. You don't know what you're saying, what you're thinking. You're so torn. You know, if you're being honest, that his age is the one of the only real things really keeping you apart, but right now it doesn't seem to matter as much. So then... "It's… we'll do what we can."

"I love you," he mumbles. "You know that?"

It's like you've been stabbed. "Yes," you say, and it's weak and horrible and you say, "Shit," then. "John, I…"

"It's okay," he whispers. "I know you don't."

You shake your head, just barely, then release his hand and turn around. He can see the grey on your stomach, then, and up arcing from your side up through your bra to your right breast. He looks you in the face, all seriousness and softness, and you wonder how you could possibly deserve that look, no matter who he is.

You open your mouth to speak, then slide your arms around his neck and go just slightly up on tiptoe to meet him face to face.

"Don't do this if," he says, but you kiss him inexpertly on the mouth to cut him off, and he kisses you back, and again after that. It's stupid, you shouldn't be doing this, but it satisfies something, something that's been absent for some time. The humanness of it, the closeness, is the best part, and you're overwhelmed enough to pull back.

"So, um," you say, and try to breathe through it. "So... "

"Don't do this for me," he says; he's putting on a good front, but you know him well enough to know that he's really shaken.

"I don't do anything I don't want to," you say, and touch his face. He just looks at you, and you know you need to pull back; you still crave the closeness. "Don't worry about me."

"I always worry about you." He lifts your chin and kisses you again, this time all him, and almost all of you flutters, like an idiot. "All right?" he asks after.

You don't know what to say. Dave would have a good comment to that. _Dave._ Shit. You pull back. "I should…" You snatch your shirt up from the bed next to you, and pull it on. "I should check with Mark about tomorrow."

"Rose," John tries.

You smile at him, tensely, quickly, and leave in a rush to head to Mark's room.

The plan goes like this:

Mark and the Vermas build the antenna and wait for a signal -- _indication_ \-- that they should boost _your_ signal you've already got planned and ready to go. Mark's already hacked one of the satellites, so it's possible to hack all of them, but even one would work. You, Dave, John, and Ruby raid the New York City compound, find the source of the signal, and destroy it. If you get out, you get out.

That last part is mostly inside of your own head. You think there would be some pushback on that.

"It's fine," Mark reports when you ask about the satellites. "I crashed one -- it will come back in time, don't worry about that, but now I know I can reach it. The others I hijacked briefly, but I doubt they'll think hard about it. Even if they do, well, we're bringing hell down upon ourselves quite possibly tomorrow anyway. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, we are," you answer warmly. "We had to poke our heads up eventually, Mark. Trust me and Dave."

"I always do," he confirms. "Isn't it time for dinner?"

"It is." You glance into the hallway; thankfully, no one's hovering. "Let's go?"

Adya's made a variety of Indian food for the third floor of the condo. You're not a huge fan, but it's a change, and change feels good right now. You look across the table as you cringe at the spicy heat of the chicken you're eating, and Dave is laughing at you. You fight off a grin.

"Problem?" you ask dryly.

"Looks like you have the problem," he says.

"I don't know what you mean." You raise your eyebrows at him, and he's smiling nearly as much as you've seen since the plan's really kicked into gear with both of you at the helm. "Are you ready?"

"I want a week," he says.

It's a surprise. "Dave. We talked about -- "

"I want a week to get Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff up, and to strengthen the message we're working on. More time gives us more strength. You with me?"

Sensible. It feels wrong. You want to fight back. It almost hurts to consider agreeing. "I am," you say mildly, and he looks totally astounded for a split second before he buttons it down. "A week from today."

"A week from today," he agrees, his smile fading a bit, his expression distant. Then he stares into his plate and digs in.

"Look at us," John says merrily, nudging his leg against yours at the table. You are horrified to realize that you might be blushing. "Big happy family! A toast to family!"

You smirk a bit, despite yourself, self-deprecatingly. "A toast to family," you repeat, and lift your glass. "Cheers!"

Dave touches his glass to yours with an expression that is the closest he gets to a visible good-natured eyeroll, and sends you another brief smile (mirroring your own, you realize, as you feel your own smile grow a bit wider).

This feels good. This is what you've always wanted.

This won't last long. You have to make it count. You have to fight for it.

(Later that night, alone in your bedroom, you message her:

> TT: There's been a delay.
> 
> TT: But I'm going. I'm going to find what you need me to find.
> 
> TT: Or want me to find. Either way.
> 
> TT: We're making it happen.

)

\--

"I was making a joke about being all broken up about it," the guy who isn't you says to his shades. He's fine. "A guy can be sad and make jokes at the same time."

"You are sad, but not broken up about it?" the girl on the other end says to the guy who can't be you. "I don't understand."

"Exactly," the guy says. He looks down at the ground, where a guy who looks like you is bleeding and dead on the ground. He feels something. That something is complicated. You wonder why this guy sort of cares about the fact that you're dead, because you don't know this guy, and even if you did, you wouldn't be friends with a guy who has the same name, especially one who's only thirteen.

You wonder how you know he's only thirteen. It's a dream. It's not supposed to make sense. Your brain is just being an asshole, showing young you, you, dead.

His stomach churns. It hurts you. You refuse to acknowledge this. You're the dead guy here. It's not supposed to affect you.

"But you said you were grieving!"

There's no point. His mind's on something else. Awesome irony shit. And how to get that goddamn anime sword out of the rock, like you're not even fucking there impaled by it.

"If that sword's coming out of his chest it's coming out clean. Taking it vertically means drawing more blood. But horizontally means a clean break."

He straightens.

"Check it."

Someone is pounding on your bedroom door. You clutch at your chest like an asshole, like you were actually fucking impaled, as Luke calls, "Rose says you should have been awake for an hour by now!"

Rose. You try to breathe. You're in reality, where you haven't died twice. Thankfully, so far, you only die when you're asleep, which is great, five star experience, Dave Strider's brain, give it a try.

There's footsteps outside of your door, then it opens, and you scramble to your feet for some reason. "What the fuck," you complain loudly.

"I thought that might get you moving," Rose says from the other side of the door. You can't see her face but she sounds amused. "Dreaming?"

"Yeah," you say before you think it through. She caught you unawares. "It's not the time."

"I agree. Get dressed. We're going." She shuts your door and you go look out there to ask why no food before you go, but she's gone.

There's probably some symbolism behind your sword being more important than your death, and you wish you were enough not in the mood to dismiss it, but it all feels incredibly fucking real right now. Today is the day you're probably going to die, no matter what Rose says.

What you do today is more important than you.

You're just standing in front of your closed door, hand on the doorknob, frozen. You force yourself to take a step back and then it's okay, almost.

"It's cool," you say out loud, then shake your head and start to get dressed.

You switch out for your Skaiashades before you leave the room, and open Pesterchum.

> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 7:10 --
> 
> TG: might have seen the future
> 
> TG: i die let them know i was psychic
> 
> TG: it was weird i was older i think but
> 
> TG: shitty lighting in that dream
> 
> TT: I thought it wasn't time.
> 
> TT: This bothers you?
> 
> TG: i saw myself dead
> 
> TG: kind of disturbing to sane people
> 
> TG: some kind of crater thing
> 
> TG: does she have a volcano
> 
> TG: shes a supervillain of course she does

There's a pause where you're just standing in your room like an idiot and she's not replying, then you have to say something.

> TG: rose
> 
> TT: You're not going to die.
> 
> TG: what
> 
> TT: Come downstairs.
> 
> TG: k

Everyone who's going is downstairs already, and some of the others are lingering. You see movement outside and realize all of the others are there, then, or at least most of them.

"They're not all assuming we're going to die, are they?" you ask Luke. "That's really fucking unhelpful if they are."

"They know it's big," Luke says. "You're both going. That's kind of huge."

Mark sidles up next to you. "I'm still not sure who's contacting me," he says. "And maybe I should go along? I could -- "

"Fuck no," you say. "No offense, bro, but only people who can really defend themselves for this round. As annoying as you are I want you not dead."

"You could protect me," he points out.

"We have enough to do and you don't have to be there to do what you need to do." You eye him as he puts his hands up. "Yeah. Okay. Luke, you're going?"

"I'm going." Luke looks tired. "I'm driving the getaway car."

"Cool," you say.

John wanders over to you, and you still tense like an idiot. _Damn it._ "We're not driving," he says. "Rose dropped one of the windows at the building you had to abandon in the city. We have to take the subway or walk a half hour, but -- "

"Yeah, that sounds stupid," you interrupt. "What if it's unplugged on the other end and we're all trapped? What if something goes wrong before Luke gets there and we have to get home? We just hope for a cab?"

"You really underestimate how many cabs there are," John says.

"There aren't a million goddamn cabs in Austin, god, you fucking New Yorkers," you snap.

John scoffs and laughs. "You're from Austin! Of course!"

"John," Rose says pointedly, and he instantly turns to see her behind him. "None of that today."

"He's being obnoxious about the plan," John says, jabbing a thumb at you.

"Because I think a car is a better idea," you say, "not gonna apologize for that."

Rose considers that. "We're taking the window."

" _Why_ ," you say.

"Because we can't afford to be easily traced. We may take the window back as well. Is that enough?" she prompts you, but doesn't wait for your answer. "We're going. I just wanted to make sure everyone was ready. Where's Ruby?"

You realize everyone's looking at you. "Why would I know?" you retort. "I came right down." You ignore everyone and open Pesterchum on your Skaiashades.

> \-- temperedGramr [TG] began pestering sirenLights [SL] at 7:20 --
> 
> TG: hey
> 
> TG: whered you go
> 
> TG: were leaving
> 
> SL: oh sorry!
> 
> SL: my dad wanted my help translating
> 
> SL: we're on the roof
> 
> SL: i'll come down soon

You hate how you can feel people looking at you as you talk. You flick the keyboard function on.

> TG: were leaving
> 
> TG: like now
> 
> TG: you scared
> 
> SL: are you kidding??
> 
> SL: i'm stoked
> 
> SL: are you scared?
> 
> TG: yeah because im not stupid
> 
> TG: no offense i guess
> 
> SL: no offense? lol
> 
> TG: ruby theyre all looking at me
> 
> TG: get down here
> 
> SL: my dad was verifying that your last experiment worked
> 
> SL: it did
> 
> SL: plus he's being stupid about his articles
> 
> SL: not really relevant now i tried to point it out but
> 
> SL: ANYWAY
> 
> SL: there's an email that hit the fake email account
> 
> SL: you didn't check today obviously

You didn't check today. That's true.

> TG: what is it
> 
> SL: maybe we should save that as celebratory news in case this all goes south
> 
> TG: yeah no i want to know
> 
> SL: check for yourself bro
> 
> SL: but wait until i can see your face

Now you're checking the email and fast, even though she keeps pestering you.

"Dave?" Rose asks skeptically.

The email's open. Your brain's breaking.

" _Kevin Smith took the bait,_ " you say, astounded. "Kevin Smith -- " You switch over to Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff's page and check the hit counter. " _Holy fuck!_ "

"It worked?" John asks.

"It worked," Rose confirms, almost cheerfully. "Now we take down the signal."

You check your Pesterchum window.

> SL: you're looking aren't you
> 
> SL: you never let me have any fun
> 
> SL: hey for the record
> 
> SL: i'm never going to have the guts to say this in person
> 
> SL: if i die
> 
> SL: you should go for it
> 
> SL: you know what i mean

What the fuck.

> TG: just come down here
> 
> SL: don't be a wuss
> 
> SL: and you know what i mean
> 
> TG: im not and i dont
> 
> SL: whatever man
> 
> SL: be right down
> 
> \-- sirenLights [SL] ceased pestering temperedGramr [TG] at 7:30 --

You flick off the keyboard and look levelly at Rose. "She'll be down any second now. They were checking in with the last worldwide experiment."

"Good?" she asks.

"Good," you say. You feel like you probably should be scared out of your mind, but things are going well today, and that makes it hard to be the level of paranoid that the situation really warrants. "She may have more detail. Should we head up?"

Rose smiles, briefly, in that unsettling way that isn't quite her, and turns to go. "Luke, I'd leave right now. Keep your PDA readied, park nearby."

Luke sighs. "Rose, if there's traffic, if I don't get there in time -- "

John is following Rose up the stairs now. "We're intelligent, we'll figure something out, just stay in touch."

Mark looks at you as she disappears upstairs. "They seem optimistic," he notes.

"Yeah," you say. That much is very true. "Well, whatever, we'll see. There's always the apartment."

Luke's hand is on your arm all of the sudden, and you freeze up. "Don't be reckless," he says. "You're the one I trust for this. Try to get the others through this. I know it's your mission, but it could go south. Do what you have to do."

It rattles you and comforts you at the same time, that he's so scared and so confident in you. It gets scarier the more you think about it, but that's because it's important. "Thanks, man," you say, and feel yourself smile, so you try to wipe it off your face to look at Mark. "Don't be a dick," you warn him.

"I think Rose and John are a thing now," he says to that, immediately being a dick. "I'm saying in case they're kissing when you go up there."

"I'm trying to have this heartfelt moment between bros, Mark, you're just too fucking stupid to pull it off, you're killing me and my serious feelings jam," you say, totally cool.

"Whatever," Mark says, and shrugs. "I know you'll come back."

"You see the future?" you retort.

"I see a group of competent badasses headed inside with a plan and my help. It may not go down perfectly, but it will go." He opens his arms. "Want a hug?"

"Fuck no." You touch the hilt of your sword in mock warning. "Cool. 'Bye."

Luke takes a deep breath, so big you can feel him next to you doing it. "Okay. Yeah. 'Bye." He goes out.

You pause for a split-second, then go upstairs, running into Ruby on the way. "Uh, so, we're going to -- "

Ruby grabs you by the shirt and kisses you, then shoves you up against the wall with another kiss. You're not against this at all. It's a good release of tension. She pulls back and you're not completely ready to stop and she knows it, but she talks instead. "Congratulations, bro," she says, and smiles broadly. "Let's make two wins today."

You are suddenly fighting off thoughts of sex. They're inconvenient. They don't seem to care that they are. You kiss her again, and that startles her -- she almost always instigates. "Don't fucking die," you say to her.

She touches your cheek. "We're all gonna die someday, you know," she says. "I always wanted mine to mean something, ever since they killed my mama. You gave me that, Dave."

You want to kiss her again. You don't want Rose to see. "We should go," you say, and she goes ahead to Rose's room. You follow.

You open the door and true to fucking shit you basically catch Rose in the same position you were just in, her majjyk already starting to surround her body. "Yo," you say.

Rose's head whips towards you, and she looks worried, actually fucking concerned, for less than a second. Then she smiles and moves past John, who turns around carefully. "Let's go."

You're thinking about this damn thing with John now. You don't want to, but you are. It's irritating. Ruby touches your arm like she can tell, probably because she can. (The truth is she probably deserves someone better than you, but whatever, that's not really your decision to make in the long run, and does that fucking matter now anyway?)

Rose plugs in the window, and it flickers into life. It strikes you again how stupid this all is. Too bad. "Are you ready?" she asks.

"Yeah," you say. For some reason, you're smiling. Probably nerves. "Do it already."

She smiles outright and smashes the window with her foot, clearing the edges. "Just jump," she says, and does.

"Shit," you swear, and try to get in next, but John is ahead of you, of course, so you jump as soon as you can.

There's darkness, then light again, then gravity shifts weirdly and you fly up out of the other window, jumping quickly to the ground. Then you realize you're not in an apartment like you should be.

There are a group of people in labcoats staring at you. One is wearing a red labcoat. Rose and John are doing the same dumb standoff of shock that you are. No one's doing anything, until Ruby comes in behind you. 

Red Labcoat Woman unfreezes to make a run for something and Ruby fires one of her guns in the air. Red Labcoat freezes, and Ruby saunters forward. "Thanks for saving us a trip on the subway," she says. "We want answers. I'm a very good shot, and you're not leaving the room until we get them. Understand?"

There's a shift in the air, and you shift uncomfortably, then noticing Rose's majjyk has gotten visibly bigger and more intense. "The signal," she says. "Take me to it. Now."

\--

Something feels incredibly right. Being here, at long last achieving what you mean to do, of course, that's something. But that's not what you're experiencing this vividly, this sharply. It's all in your tastebuds and along each nerve. Every part of you is awake and thrumming.

"Rose," John says. You barely glance at him. " _Rose,_ " he repeats.

You look ahead. The elevator button for "down" is hit. "Why aren't we headed up?" you ask.

Ruby raises a gun casually. "That's a good question! I'd think a signal would be up, wouldn't you?" She nudges Red Labcoat Woman with the gun. "Don't you think?"

"You don't know anything," Red Labcoat Woman says, with mild irritation, less irritation than you would think someone would have at someone putting a gun up against them. "I can take you to the roof, but you'll find nothing and kill me. Once security finds us they'll kill all of the rest of you and keep Lalonde, I hope you know that?"

"They can try," John says, a cheerful edge in his voice.

"You're at our headquarters, you incredible dumbasses," Red Labcoat says, with more disgust than anything. "You're going to be overwhelmed sooner than later. You should have brought more people if you actually wanted to achieve something."

"Why does she want Rose?" Dave asks. You glance at him; he beat you to it, but you think you already know.

"I assume retribution. We've been told not to kill her. Although now she's just looking like a fascinating experimental subject. How exactly are you managing that?" Red Labcoat asks you directly.

The elevator pings open. Ruby nudges her into the elevator and the rest of you follow. "It's hardly important," you say. You glance at Dave, who's staring at you, and John sighs raggedly. "What?" you try.

"It's happening again," John tells you, and you do your absolute best to not look at all surprised or shaken.

"It doesn't matter," you both translate the babbling and answer the question.

They have their claws or tentacles or whatever in you. They're changing you physically, neurologically. _It doesn't matter._ What matters is that this ends. If you vanish into the ether but the world gets a chance, it was worth it.

"Where are we going?" Ruby asks in her usual deadly serious sing-song tone.

"Where you want to go," Red Labcoat says.

"Not good enough, I want to know where you're taking us," Ruby says easily. You don't know her as well as you could, and her grace under pressure is admirable. "Is this where it's being broadcast from? Some kind of machine?"

Red Labcoat laughs, then puts a hand to her face. "Oh, Christ. You kids. You have no idea, do you?"

"We know it's here," you say. There it is again; the world is tilting, just for a moment, and you're probably exhibiting some kind of physical symptom of too much majjyk, the eyes, the grey, something. You and John have been doing this for too long for certain patterns to not have become noticeable. Today is going to be bad on this front. You've known it could be and so far it's proven so. "Hit a button already."

"I can only get you down so far," Red Labcoat says. "I'm not going to wish you good luck, because what you're doing is insane, and you're going to regret it." She punches the button marked LL5, pulls a set of keys off of her belt, and puts it into the elevator to twist. It starts to move. "Also, whatever you're trying to do is misguided. This signal is the only thing keeping things sane."

"You would say that," Dave interrupts her.

"I would. I know better than you do, don't I?" she retorts. "The signal keeps people asleep. They don't want to be awake."

"Maybe you don't want to be, but I sure as hell do," Ruby says, warmly combative.

"Kids," Red Labcoat scoffs. She eyes John. "Field trip?"

"I used to work here. Didn't know about the signal though," John says. "I'm feeling a hell of a lot better being awake."

"Oh," Red Labcoat says, with great interest. "I thought I recognized you from a file. Maryland's prize subject! Oh, they can't kill you. You're good product."

You see John shift specibi and you clear your throat. _Stand down._ He does. "You aren't just any scientist, are you?" you ask her, and clear your throat again, this time because it's all caught in your throat, the desire to let them speak.

"Dr. Helena Redding, Assistant Scientific Director, Biology," she says. "You were damned lucky you got me and not the director. You wouldn't have survived that."

"Yeah, we don't care," Dave says, and eyes John. "Where did you work, anyway? Fuck, this is taking forever."

"I worked in advertising. Saw something I shouldn't have. These assholes killed my wife and kids and experimented on me." John says it all matter-of-fact, all of the things you suspected but never dared to ask. "We should just nuke the place."

"Fuck no we're not," Dave says, then reels it back; you see him visibly trying again when you look. "There's assholes, like this lady. But there's people like you in here and I don't want to kill everyone. And how do we survive that?"

"We leave someone behind to do it," John points out.

"Oh, this is a fascinating political debate," Dr. Redding says. "We've wondered what side of violent versus nonviolent revolution you tilted on, it looks like you haven't quite decided."

"No one cares what you think," Dave snaps, then looks at John. "Tell me you didn't bring a bomb."

"I'm not stupid enough to carry around an armed explosive. Parts of it, yeah," John says casually, "but it wouldn't be hard to put together. I know where we could put it, too."

"John," you say, as balanced as you can be, as it feels like the elevator is vanishing out from around you even though you intellectually know you're fine.

He falters and looks at you, then crosses the elevator to you. His hands close around your arms; you haul in a breath and realize you haven't breathed in at least thirty seconds. "Hold on a little longer," he says.

"I'm fine," you say, but it doesn't come out right. You blink, and things don't look right. (Can they see through your eyes now?) "John." You try again. " _John._ " There it is. He's looking at you in mild terror, but sinks back when you speak for yourself. "I'm fine."

"Just try to keep a grip." You can tell he wants to kiss you. He shouldn't even be touching you. It has to hurt. "Okay?"

"Let go of me," you say firmly. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Why haven't we been interrupted?" Ruby wonders, looking up at the elevator. You're reaching Ground Floor now and you're still going.

"That's probably me," you say. "They aren't able to see in here. They're probably smarter than to try to enter it."

"For what could be a camera outage?" Ruby asks skeptically.

"We assume camera outages are her, now," Dr. Redding says, and shrugs. "Better safe than sorry."

"Aren't you supposed to capture her?" Dave points out. "Wouldn't you want to crash the party?"

"You'd think," Dr. Redding says, "but even chipping the Imperiacorp doesn't make them one hundred percent compliant when they're scared of something. I suspect you've noticed that."

" _Chipping_?" Ruby asks.

"Pain breaks through the programming," Dr. Redding says, "but so can fear. We haven't managed to perfect it yet. She has kind of unrealistic expectations, to be honest."

"Yeah, well, fuck her," Dave says.

You look past John, at Dave. It's grounding enough to have him there. You wish you could say something on Pesterchum, or something that only both of you could hear. You wish you'd known how in deep you were going to get, because this feels differently than you expected.

Your Pesterchum goes off. You pause and check.

> \-- uranianUmbrage [UU] began pestering terminalTelesilla [TT] at 7:48 --
> 
> UU: i see that yoU have begUn yoUr joUrney!
> 
> UU: thoUgh i wish that yoU hadn't.
> 
> UU: this is a difficUlt path yoU have taken to the destination we have discUssed.

You project out your keyboard instantly.

> TT: This isn't the time.
> 
> UU: yoU have not thoUght this throUgh.
> 
> UU: thoUgh i know yoU believe yoU have.
> 
> UU: we have all made plans that seem foolhardy in retrospect.
> 
> UU: i can tell yoU these will seem so soon.
> 
> TT: You're looking at the wrong timeline, or you really don't know how this works.
> 
> TT: You can't just tell me to turn back.
> 
> UU: i can, rose, and i am.
> 
> TT: Why?
> 
> UU: becaUse everything will change after today if you don't.
> 
> UU: and yoU are not in fUll control of yoUr actions. is that not enoUgh?

It should be. But you're not known for your ability to back down even when it's not too late.

> TT: It's too late. What can you tell me that's actually helpful?
> 
> UU: we had a plan, rose. yoU foUnd it insUfficiently direct. i have tried to help.
> 
> UU: for now, i can tell yoU to listen.
> 
> UU: and bring yoUr listener if yoU can.
> 
> TT: Luke?
> 
> TT: He's on his way but he won't be here any time soon. That's not helpful.
> 
> UU: then take yoUr time.
> 
> UU: it is not the end of the world. yet.
> 
> TT: I need more than that. You aren't telling me anything helpful. I'm wasting time.
> 
> UU: yoU are afraid. yoU're right to be so.
> 
> UU: bUt you will live.
> 
> TT: Bring Luke? Listen? That's your advice?
> 
> UU: yes.
> 
> TT: Fine.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering uranianUmbra [UU] at 7:51 --

You open a window to Luke, quickly.

"Rose," Dave says severely.

"Just a minute," you say in much the same tone.

> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] began pestering parisBound [PB] at 7:52 --
> 
> TT: Are you coming?
> 
> PB: Nowhere nearby
> 
> PB: You made it I assume
> 
> TT: Yes. Come faster if you can.
> 
> PB: How
> 
> TT: We could use your help here. We could use your… hearing.
> 
> PB: I don't know if I want to
> 
> TT: Too bad. Your General orders it.
> 
> PB: I'll come as fast as I can
> 
> PB: Make sure one of you stays alive enough to answer me
> 
> TT: Everyone needs to stop being so grim.
> 
> PB: I'll try to keep morale high
> 
> PB: I wish I was with you
> 
> PB: I owe it to Jade
> 
> TT: You've done so much already. Let us take it from here, and get us the hell out of here if it all goes badly.
> 
> PB: I will try to get there and use my "ears" soon
> 
> TT: Good. Be careful, get back to driving.
> 
> \-- terminalTelesilla [TT] ceased pestering parisBound [PB] at 7:53 --

"What the hell was that?" Dave asks the second you turn off the keyboard.

"Talking to Luke," you say easily. You're about to say something else, but the elevator lands.

You look at Dave, then John, and you're all doing your best impression of someone who isn't uneasy. Then the door pings open. John swaps specibi back and reacts instantly to haul the Imperiacorp guard crossing by the elevator inside and knock him out with a normal bat.

Dave's eyebrows are very much raised. "Okay," he says. "Anyone else out there?" He catches the door before it closes again and dares a look outside. "Rue, go ahead."

Ruby grins and hops delicately over the guard to stalk outside, and Dave follows her. You gesture John ahead, and give Dr. Redding a level look. "I'm taking you with me."

"You can, of course," she says. "But I can tell you that the further down you look the more likely you are to find what you want. And you can take me with you to put me down if you find I'm lying, but I really don't believe you're the kind of person who has the stomach to do that."

"I just want a guided tour," you say blithely, and point her out the door. She exits and you nudge the Imperiacorp guard into the elevator completely, and punch the up button so he'll wind up somewhere safe. Dave would be proud. "Go," you say to her, and point after the others. She shrugs and goes.

John looks at you curiously, so you answer. "She knows this building. She's going to get us to where we need to go."

"Or she could be lying," Dave says.

"Of course I could, but that's not going to help anyone. This floor is an Imperiacorp outpost. You have to take the stairs from here on in, I don't have access to anything below this on the elevator and LL6 is the last there's even elevator access on," Dr. Redding says mildly. "I'm sure you've looked at blueprints, if you're so clever. I can't give you much help here, though."

"Dr. Redding?" a voice calls down the hallway.

She looks at you, specifically, and it's clear she's trying not to laugh. "Go back," she calls.

"Are you alone?"

Ruby cocks one of her guns, sidles off just slightly so she can see the figure of the approaching Imperiacorp guard, and takes two shots, two groans of pain and heavy falls following. "Rose, where do we go?" she asks instantly.

"This is a circular corridor," you say quickly, recalling the blueprint. "There's a stairwell -- should be past the elevator."

"Stronger fighting position if nothing else," Dave supposes, and grabs Ruby's arm, running. You and John follow, and you shove Dr. Redding forward with majjyk; she pretty hurriedly runs with you then.

You make it to the stairwell and down a flight just when Imperiacorp spills into the stairwell, and you throw one or two of them back into the crowd with majjyk, causing chaos, Dave and John frontline in melee, Ruby picking off anyone who might make a dent. "Back," you shout when there don't seem to be any more at least for the time being. "Down the stairs!"

The five of you emerge onto LL6. It's just a poorly-lit corridor. You stride ahead of everyone as Dave directs Ruby to watch your backs and John tersely tells Dr. Redding, "Well, tell us more."

"I don't have access to LL6, remember?" Dr. Redding points out. "Access is quite important here, as you might remember."

You glance back at them. "John," you say in warning, because she's goading him and his anger management skills are not great.

He ignores that. "Keep up the majjyk," he says, "you're letting it loose. Aren't you?"

"Well -- " He has a point. There's less of it coursing through you. You know what it feels like by now. What's happening? "Shit," you swear quietly, and touch the THORNS. There's a brief burst from there, but it's not the same.

You're in front of the door at the end of the corridor now. You reach out to open it.

"Wait, wait, fucking wait," Dave says. "No, I want to know what the fuck we're getting into. So this is the last official level of the building, right?"

"Right," Dr. Redding says without hesitation.

"But the building goes down a good five miles underground after that," he goes on, "right, Rose?"

"Right," you confirm.

"So there's something under LL5 that goes five fucking miles underground," he says, "otherwise there'd be multiple floors built in. And this is going to be our first goddamn run-in with it."

"What are you thinking?" you prompt him.

"I don't know, but I'm not fucking stoked," Dave says, and pushes up his shades. "We should be ready. Are we ready? Do we think she's actually going to be useful?" He glances at Dr. Redding. "Or just making snarky fucking comments the whole time?"

"What's the worst thing that happens? She's obviously not a combatant," John points out. "It's the only reason I haven't fucking put her down already."

"One of two reasons," Dave says.

"Boys," Ruby sighs. "Let's go before Imperiacorp gets wise again?"

You turn and open the door, striding inside. You stop dead. _You recognize this._

"These are," John says, and his voice is strangled. "These are the.... life support."

"Pods," Dr. Redding confirms without much concern. "Life support pods for those whose biology may have been compromised by experiments but who could still be of good use." There are at least a hundred of them lining the immense circular room, all glittering in the faint light, some of them with people or creatures or something inside. There's two stairwells down, one on each side.

"So there's people who were experimented on in there." Dave has never seen this before, and you remember that look, you remember wearing that look. "What do we do?"

"This isn't about the signal," you say. "So forget it. We keep going."

Dr. Redding tilts her head and her expression is amused, but she says nothing. You find it suspect. "What?"

"This is why humanity's losing," she says. "Because we're so simplistic. It's embarrassing, really."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dave says impatiently, "who gives a shit. What do we do now?"

"We go down," you say.

There's the faint sound of laughter from higher up, near the ceiling, then it gets just louder enough to make it clearly human or something like it, and everyone freezes up for an instant. 

"Down?" John checks. "Down is good."

"Aren't you even going to _check_?" Dr. Redding says. "What if it's important?"

"You're telling me it's important?" you ask.

"I'm saying it might well be," she says. "Coming all the way here and not checking seems like a fatal misstep for me."

There's more of that faint maniacal laughter again, and Dave starts to pace. "I'm fucking leaving this fucking -- that's creeping the shit out of me," he says, "let's fucking go ahead. Ruby?"

Ruby finishes reloading her guns. "Ready when you are."

You look at Dr. Redding again. "We're opening a pod," you say to the others, and the doctor smiles. "No. Don't look smug. We should verify."

"It's going to kill us," John warns you shortly.

"Not if we're ready. Just one pod." You go down the first small flight of stairs and to the first pod there, touching the controls lightly.

"I don't think this is a brilliant idea, for the record," John says.

"Holy shit, he's disagreeing with you," Dave says. "I'm in shock."

"Shut up," John advises him.

You look closer inside; the glass is reflective, so it takes the right angle to see inside. The man inside is half-asleep, his face apparently painted or blotched in dark colors and his eyes with broad dark circles around them, like a clown's makeup. You can't help but be fascinated. You lean in closer and he senses your movement, waking, looking back at you.

His eyes are strange, inhuman, and the look in them wild. Your heart's suddenly racing. Then he moves so fast you can't react and slams the glass, and starts laughing in this horrible piercing way, and you jump back.

"Jesus fucking Christ, now that we've had our fun," Dave says, rattled just watching you.

"What is this?" you ask Dr. Redding.

"Well," Dr. Redding says, "we have certain obligations to fulfill to keep the business size and money flow going, as I'm sure you're aware. This sort of thing is one of them."

"Great non-answer," Dave says, a bit snappish, "but what is it and why did you bring us here?"

"I like to consider myself a teacher," Dr. Redding says. "I don't just give out answers."

Ruby cocks a gun and puts it to her head. "How about now?"

"You wouldn't kill me because I wouldn't give you answers," Dr. Redding says dismissively.

"No, but I'll shoot you somewhere really painful and wait for you to give us answers," Ruby answers.

Dr. Redding considers that. "You were interested in the signal," she says. "It's not an antenna. At least, not the way you think of one. These creatures.... the processes it takes to make them gives them abilities. Some can make people feel certain ways, some can spread those abilities wider. Most wind up the way you saw that one, mad, inhuman, but they still serve a purpose." She eyes John. "Some come out of the other side sentient, but they're still monsters, just monsters with the right pedigree."

"The signal doesn't come from _people_ , that's not, that's fucking stupid," Dave says, but he's staring around bewildered now.

"Well, it's not coming from here, right now," Dr. Redding says, waving that off. "She hasn't visited in at least six weeks. The bulk of them visit here and it's so strong it lasts for weeks."

"Why -- "

You're done. You're finished. You have a gut feeling. _Listen_. You go downstairs.

"Rose!" Dave shouts after you, and you hear him run after you, then presumably John as well.

There's five or six stairwells, until there are no more pods and there's just a door in front of you and you go through it. When the door shuts behind you, the others catch up with you, but there's just another hallway and another door and another stairwell.

"You can't just run away like that," John chides you, touching your arm, but he yanks it away. You look at him, surprised, and his hand is burnt, badly. "What the fuck?" he says.

"I don't know," you say. You're shaken. _Everything will change after today._ Everything appears to be changing already. None of this feels the same as it usually does. "Just be careful, all right?"

"Yeah," John says, sidling just a little away from you.

"You really don't need me anymore," Dr. Redding mentions. "I told you all I know."

"Yeah, you're not going to run back up for help, sorry," Dave says. "You know you're crazy, right? Like, bugfuck as shit? Who sides with an alien?"

"I'm interested in progress," Dr. Redding says, a bit snidely. "If I go back upstairs -- "

"Frightened?" you ask.

There's silence. That tells you everything you need to know. "I thought maybe," you say. "What's down here?"

"I've never been," Dr. Redding says shortly. She doesn't like that you called her out, probably. Too bad.

"Everyone," you say as calmly as you can, "you need to listen."

"For what?" Dave asks.

"You'll know it when you hear it." You don't know what you're talking about, but you trust your alien contact.

It's a long trip down all of the stairs. You're wondering how long it's actually been -- the others have been in conversation for a while about what food they should get after all of this -- when you see down the stairwell a few flights and there's a door.

"There's a door," you tell the others.

"Shit," Dave swears.

"What?" you ask, glancing back.

"Rose, we can't hear you," John says, expressionless in that way that means he's incredibly worried.

"But I feel fine," you try to say, and that's when you realize you can't feel your hands. You look down at them to find them a light shade of grey. "What," you say, more out of shock than anything.

"That was sudden," John says. "Uh, Rose, do you want to take off the HUBTOPBAND in case?"

Damn it. He's right. You take it off and captchalogue it. "Please tell me you can hear me," you try again. You don't want to lose control like last time. You can't afford to do that now.

"It's okay," John says quietly, and wraps his sleeve around his hand a few times so he can touch your shoulder briefly in comfort. "Just be ready for whatever."

"So this is the scary shit you decided not to tell anyone about because I might think it's insane because it is?" Dave checks with John.

"Yeah, be more accusatory," John says. "It got us all the way here to where we can do something."

"At what risk though," Dave says. "What if she doesn't come back from that?"

"Whatever," John says, and exhales. You can just feel that more than anything right now he just wants to touch you, but he can't, even though you want the same thing. "Go, Rose. We're ready."

You open the door.

The room is immense, but clearly one room; the edges of the walls aren't even visible from where you stand, and there's about a thousand feet between the walls and whatever's at the center. Something glowing is at the center of the room, possibly a window or a wall. You move closer to the center without hesitation, your head tilted.

You think you can hear something.

"What's she doing?" Dave hisses.

"Listening," Ruby says simply.

"For what?"

_closer_

It's not even really a word, just an impression placed upon your brain, and you move closer, and closer after that, until you realize that what you're approaching is glass, and there's something behind it. Something moving. Something very, very big, and white.

There's an eye right in front of you, bigger than your head. This should terrify you, but all you do is put your hand on the glass, and, slowly, a tentacle reaches out to put against the glass near your hand. Something about this feels right.

"Hello," you say.

_remember_

You're not sure what it means by that. "You're why it all changed today. My abilities. Getting closer to you changes things, doesn't it?"

_remember_

"I don't know what you mean," you say. You strain. "Do -- are you one of them? You look like one of them."

_remember back_

You think you're frustrating it. "When should I remember? The first time? Or here and now?"

There's silence from it for a moment, but then there's a pain through your arm and your head nearly buckles from pain, but you see a flash of _you_ , little you, at Maryland, maybe four years old, asleep.

"Don't touch her," John is shouting when you wake up.

"Fuck that," Dave snaps back, and pulls you to your feet. You blink at him, still a little stupefied, but then you scramble back, not wanting to hurt him. "Rose," he tries. "Get back from this thing."

It keens, a sound that scrambles you mentally and physically, but the others don't seem to react. "I'm in tune with you," you say to it. "You helped me. _Why_? Why are you here?"

"Oh, Rosie," a voice comes from the other side of the room, "you're in wayyyyyy over your head, ain't ya?"

"What the fuck," you say, just because no one is going to actually hear you except maybe the monster that the batterwitch has in a tank, apparently, anyway.

"John, switch specibi now," Dave says rapidly, "it's her, it's fucking _her_ , Jesus Christ -- "

"You broke into my crib and expected me to not be here?" Now you can all see her, the tall, terrifying outline of her, all hair and rainbows against the bright white of the tank. "Not cool. Time to fuck you up, babies." She grins.

You stand in front of the others. "You probably can't understand me," you say easily, "but I'm not going to let you kill my friends."

"Ooh, this is going to be fun," she says, her eyes all alight with interest. "A real fight! But first I gotta kill this bitch." She readies her trident and before anyone can do anything she throws it at Dr. Redding, who's pretty much dead the second she hits the floor.

"Holy shit," Ruby whispers.

"You're not allowed to die," Dave whispers back to her.

"Tell that to her!"

Your mother does her obnoxious terrifying sashaying to grab the trident, but John goes at her with a sword before she gets a chance and she instantly grabs him by the neck before he gets in a swing.

"Stupid," she says in a sing-song. "Stupid boy! Lucky me, though! He's one of mine." You draw your needles and approach, but she just laughs, releases John, and he goes stiff, then relaxes, and turns to Dave.

"Oh shit," Dave says slowly. "Shit, he's fucking gone, shit -- "

"I'll just shoot him," Ruby says rapidly.

"No, we can break her concentration or something -- leave it to Rose!"

"I'm not letting him fucking kill you!"

You have just enough time to watch in horror as John tries his damnedest to kill Dave with a sword, before your mother crosses into your vision.

"Soooo," she says, "looks like we can't catch up since last time because my lusus is ruining everything. But that's cool!" She twirls her trident. "I can still kill you and the pet can kill Strider and you little bitches will stop being my problem."

"How are you doing that?" you demand, pointing demonstratively. " _Let him go_." Even if she could hear you she wouldn't, but you have to say it.

She glances at them in the middle of a furious swordfight and all of Dave's shouting. "They're mine," she says, "I dunno what the fuck you want. Maybe I should let some of my rage babies tear you to pieces. They need a good break."

You suddenly remember, it all falls into place, you can't believe you're _thinking_ at a time like this but you're not sure you were ever really ready for this, have you ever really been ready for this? _Trolls._ "We're not trolls," you say hotly, and that comes out in English, you think, from the look on her face, maybe because you're _just that angry_. Then you go at her with your needles.

A shot rings out and John cries out in pain, but it doesn't seem to help at all, but you're just battering against her magic with your own majjyk, and it's so much more powerful in this chamber, right now, that you think you almost stand a chance. It's swallowing you whole and you're just blindly using as much of it as you can against her, to swallow _her_ whole, and you try to drag her off of her feet, to slam her into the wall.

She starts screaming at you, nothing that makes sense to you, because you're not quite succeeding but she's probably not used to a fight being anywhere near this close, and you're panting with the effort and you realize that you're bleeding from your nose, which probably isn't good. But this is the important thing. _You could save them all._ She tries to stab you and you freeze the trident where it is, somehow, and switch needles quickly to stab her through the arm.

"You're fucking _dead_ ," she screams, and you think you probably are no matter how this goes, because the human body isn't meant to be channeling this much anything, but you don't give a shit right now. You keep going after her, and then she grabs you by the hair and you scream in fury, lashing out at her arms, but she's got a grip on you and there's nothing you can do about it.

"No, FUCKING WAIT," you hear Dave shout from the other end of the room, but you can't see what's going on, tears and maybe blood down your face as she drags a door open and crams something onto your head.

You fight to get it off of your head, but she smacks you across the whole of your head with the trident and you can't move. She flips a switch.

Everything goes white.

_this isn't right_  
_listen_

The next thing you know you're in a car, coughing blood into a cup, your head in disarray. "What," you choke out.

"Oh holy shit you're awake," Dave says in the tone of the most poignant relief you've ever heard him use. "Can you talk? Like, another word in English for me?"

"What -- " No, that's the same one. "What happened?"

"She left us alive," he says. "Did some fucked up experiment thing on you."

You look around wildly. Luke's in the driver's seat, Dave's in the back with you, and Ruby's in front. "John?" you try.

There's dead silence in the car. You are still stupid enough from what she did to think that you might be wrong about what happened. Then Dave says, "He broke whatever she did. Killed himself so he wouldn't kill me. He was about to, I was fucking dead."

"I wouldn't have let you die," Ruby says quietly.

"He was dead either way," Dave says. He can't seem to look at you. This explains, you realize, why he's completely covered in John's blood. "I'm sorry. Yeah. Whatever."

You don't have it in you to cry right now. You're not sure you have it in you to do much of anything.

You touch the THORNS from comfort. You feel nothing, from the throes, or from inside yourself.

\--

It's been a week. Rose hasn't left her bedroom since it happened. You're surprised, really, because she's always seemed like the type who'd go out no matter what to prove that everything was fine even when it wasn't. But there's a line like that even for Rose Lalonde, you guess.

You're not fine, either. You're probably finer than Rose is, but you're still stuck with the mental image of John trying to kill the shit out of you and opening his own throat to save you. You're probably going to be stuck with that forever.

Now you _have_ to be special. If someone kills themselves to save you, you've officially got to be worth that.

It's time for lunch. You silently gather it, raise your eyebrows at Hana on your way out, and go upstairs, opening the door without a knock. She's generally just in there reading or knitting these days, or just laying there quietly.

"You mind me having my lunch in here too?" you ask her, when she shifts from lying on her side to face you.

"No," she says simply, and you put the tray on the bed, then take your own plate off of it.

She pulls the tray into her lap. "You're treating me like I'm made of glass," she says, only a little accusatory..

"You've been hiding. I figure it's for the best to roll with how you're doing." She shifts up on the bed for you to sit with her, so you sit on the end. "No one expects you to get over this quick."

"You're talking about feelings," she notes.

"It was kind of a big deal," you point out.

"Well," she says, and she looks tired. "He was going to die for me someday. It was why he always wanted to be there, so he could die instead of me. He died for you instead, but it comes to the same point."

"He wasn't loyal to me. I don't know why he did it," you say honestly. "And -- we don't have to talk about it."

"It was for our purpose, yours and mine. He understood that, Dave, even though he didn't know everything that was involved." She pulls apart a roll and picks the smallest piece to chew, and no one speaks until she's finished chewing. "You were right. Your approach was right. We learned useful things, but it was too much of a risk."

"You weren't in your right goddamn mind," you say. "I don't hold it against you, not really."

"I started that path on my own. The…" She sighs. "I think it was calling me."

"What is that thing?" you demand. "How were you talking to it?"

"I think it's... her pet. But it's sentient. It knows things and it knew me. It…" She trails off.

"Don't push yourself," you say, as non-committally concerned as you can plausibly get away with.

"Don't baby me," she retorts, not as offended as she could be, though.

You watch her eat for a moment, and she lets you without any comment. "I thought you were dead," you say finally.

"I bet."

You should just leave. "We need to -- do something. Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, I mean, I'm getting a lot of buzz and shit, and -- "

"And I've got my own things I have to do," Rose says. It's not what you were expecting her to say and that must be written all over your face. "What?" she asks. "It's not violent."

"That's good news, not gonna lie, but I kind of thought you were in here because you didn't know what to do," you point out.

She doesn't respond to that. "What would you have done if I was dead?" she asks.

You're mid-bite when she says that shit. "Shut the fuck up," you say with your mouth full, and then chew.

"Would you have given up? I'm curious."

 _I would have burned these fucking condos down and lived as an awesome yet reclusive millionaire._ "Yeah," you say, "it would have been really fucking tempting."

"Don't give up. You know how fucked up it is now," she says. "How deep it goes. If I die -- "

"We're not doing this violent shit anymore," you remind her sharply.

"That doesn't mean she'll let me live," she points out. "I'm the one she's always out to kill."

"But you're -- " Your throat tightens as you remember it. "They want to capture you. You'll have to be careful."

"You won't be there with me?" she asks, but it's rhetorical and you both know it.

You want to be, you need to be, but there's more important things. "Shut up."

The two of you eat in silence, then she says, "So, you'll be getting the others into witness protection, keeping the key people nearby, and we'll split up?"

You hate this. "Yeah, at least to the first part. Everyone knows we're breaking up the core group. Luke should stay with you. Ruby and the Capellos with me. I guess I'm stuck with Mark too."

Rose is looking at you and you think you know what that expression is saying but it's not fucking helpful so you're ignoring it. "The majjyk is gone."

"It might not be gone forever," you say. "But if it was, that might not be the worst thing."

"Needles aren't actually as good at killing people as swords are," she says.

"Hopefully you won't have to. But you'll have Luke."

It's stupid. You hate how stupid it is and how knowing it's stupid doesn't stop it. You spent a year knowing Rose without seeing her in person, and then months again after that, so you don't need to be there face to face. You don't need to watch her eating lunch. That's dumb shit.

"Have you had any dreams since New York?" she asks you after a long break of silence.

You shake your head. "Just purple dreamland shit. That goes away if I relax." Rose is watching you very fucking closely. "What? Why do you care? The purple dreamland shit isn't the future. Is it?"

"It's complicated," she says after a moment.

"You always say that so that you don't have to tell me things," you say, a little sharply. "So just tell me."

"Dave," she starts.

You lean forward. "We're not going to be here for that much longer. Tell me."

Rose just looks at you, stunned and startled, which is a weird look on her. Then she leans over the lunch tray and kisses you.

You remind yourself to breathe after, because you're not during. "What," you say, too fucking blown away to manage a question mark.

"Sorry," she says, and you see this close up that she's blushing.

"Holy shit." This is really happening. She's thinking about drawing back, it's written all over her face, but you stop her with a hand on her arm, and kiss her. She's the most vulnerable you've ever seen her, now, and it's a little terrifying, but you have been avoiding thinking about how badly you've wanted this for a long, long time.

"I wasn't sure," she says quietly.

"Whatever," you say. It's a stupid thing to say. This is the best you've ever felt, right here, right now, with her. You've always felt at your best with her, and you're about to lose her all over again. "It's not like we'll never see each other again or something."

Rose smiles. "You won't be nearly that lucky."


End file.
